I still remember the first time I opened my eyes. A woman was holding me close, her arms warm and gentle. She looked down at me with tears in her eyes and whispered, "My child, you will bring honor to this family."
Then I felt the strong hands of my father lifting me. His grip was firm, almost heavy, but there was love in it too. His voice was deep, steady, unforgettable. "For the future of our clan, you will bring justice and honor."
I didn't understand those words back then. I was just a baby, and soon sleep pulled me under. But even in my dreams, it felt like those words carved themselves into me, shaping something I couldn't yet see.
Years went by quickly. When I turned five, my childhood began to change. One morning, my father stood in front of me with a wooden sword. The sun was rising, its light hitting the blade like fire.
"Fan Ling," he said, looking straight into my eyes, "today you begin."
He placed the sword in my hands. My palms were small, shaky, and I could barely hold it steady. Still, I gripped it as tightly as I could.
"Our swordsmanship is more than just fighting," he said. "It is our blood, our honor. From one generation to another, it has always been passed down. Now, it is your turn. As a man, you must protect your sister… and this family."
His words were heavy, almost too heavy for a boy my age, but I didn't dare look away. That day, I felt the weight of something bigger than myself. I was no longer just a child. I was the heir of our clan's blade, the bearer of its duty.