Chapter 1: The Broken Prodigy
The wooden sword felt like an extension of Li Wei's arm. At sixteen, he was the rising star of the Verdant Sword Sect, a prodigy who had mastered forms that took others years in a matter of months. The morning sun bathed the training yard in a golden glow, and he moved through the Dancing Leaf sequence with a grace that made the other disciples stop and watch. He could feel the Qi, the vital energy of heaven and earth, circulating through his meridians, a warm, powerful river flowing into the core of his power—his dantian, nestled in his lower abdomen. It was a feeling of perfection, of a future paved with light and immortality.
The illusion shattered with a single, hate-filled glance.
His sparring partner was Zhang Feng. Two years older, but lagging a full realm behind. Zhang was the nephew of a powerful Elder, and his arrogance was only matched by his laziness. Lately, that arrogance had curdled into a bitter, seething jealousy directed solely at Li Wei.
"Ready to lose, little prodigy?" Zhang taunted, his grip tightening on his own practice sword.
Li Wei said nothing. He simply settled into his stance. Words were a waste of energy. Action was everything.
The match began. The clack of wood against wood was a rapid, rhythmic beat. Li Wei moved with fluid ease, deflecting Zhang's heavy, clumsy strikes. He saw the openings, the flaws in Zhang's form, but he held back. A spar was for learning, not for humiliation.
Zhang, however, had no such reservations. Frustration twisted his features. He was being outclassed, and everyone was watching. His attacks became wilder, more forceful, fueled by pure spite.
During a close exchange, Li Wei effortlessly parried a thrust, spinning away to create distance. It was a move that should have ended the exchange.
It was the moment Zhang had been waiting for.
As Li Wei's back was slightly turned, Zhang Feng's eyes narrowed into slits of pure malice. Instead of resetting, he lunged forward. He abandoned all pretense of a controlled sparring form. A dark, violent energy flared around his wooden sword—he was channeling a forbidden amount of Qi into a training weapon.
"Wei, behind you!" a disciple shouted, but it was too late.
The blow wasn't aimed at his back. It was aimed directly at the center of his spine, at the meridian gateway to his dantian.
CRACK.
The sound was not the clean break of wood. It was a sickening, internal snap, a sound that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the yard. Li Wei's world exploded into white, searing agony. It felt as if a star had been born and died inside him in the same instant. The warm, flowing river of his Qi vanished, replaced by a howling void of nothingness. He crumpled to the hard-packed earth, his body convulsing, his breath gone. He was a hollow gourd, smashed and emptied.
Through a blur of tears and pain, he saw Zhang Feng standing over him, panting. The older boy wasn't shocked or apologetic. He was smirking.
"My hand slipped," Zhang said, his voice dripping with false innocence. "The prodigy is not so steady after all."
Chaos erupted. Disciples gasped. Several rushed forward. The Sect Elders, who had been observing from the shaded pavilion, descended upon the scene like a flock of stern-faced cranes.
Li Wei's master, Elder Wang, was the first to reach him. The old man's face, usually a mask of calm discipline, was etched with worry. He placed a hand on Li Wei's chest, and a gentle, probing Qi entered his body. Li Wei felt it—a flicker of warmth that only made the ensuing emptiness feel vaster and more absolute. Elder Wang's face fell.
"His dantian…" the old man whispered, his voice thick with grief. "It's… shattered. The meridians are severed."
The Head Elder, a tall, imposing man with a long grey beard named Gao, stepped forward. His expression was unreadable. He looked from Li Wei, broken and gasping in the dirt, to Zhang Feng, who was now doing a poor job of looking contrite.
"An unfortunate accident," Head Elder Gao declared, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "The heat of sparring can lead to… lapses in control. Zhang Feng will be confined to his quarters for reflection."
Reflection? The word echoed in the hollow chamber of Li Wei's mind. His life, his future, his very soul had been extinguished, and the punishment was reflection?
The next few hours were a blur of pain and shame. He was carried not to the comfortable infirmary of the inner disciples, but to a small, bare room in the servants' quarters. The physician who came shook his head, offering nothing but a bitter herbal paste to numb the physical ache. It did nothing for the agony in his spirit.
That evening, Elder Wang came to him. The old man could not meet his eyes. He stared at a crack in the wall as he spoke.
"Li Wei," he began, his voice formal and distant. "The Verdant Sword Sect is a great tree that must direct its resources to the strongest branches. We cannot… we cannot pour water onto barren soil."
Li Wei lay on the thin, lumpy mattress, saying nothing. What was there to say?
"You can no longer be an inner disciple," Elder Wang continued, the words falling like stones. "But the sect is merciful. You may remain. The Herb-Gathering Division has a place for you. It is honest work. Serve well."
With that, his former master turned and left, closing the door on Li Wei's old life. The Herb-Gathering Division. It was where they sent those without talent, without hope. It was a life of hard labor, of being looked down upon by the very disciples he had once outpaced. He was now less than nothing.
Night fell, wrapping the sect in a cool, indifferent darkness. Li Wei lay on his straw-filled pallet in the small, damp shack that was now his home. The air smelled of mold and earth. From far away, he could hear the faint sounds of laughter and clinking practice swords from the main training yard. Life went on. For everyone but him.
A dry, painful thirst finally forced him to move. His body screamed in protest with every step. He shuffled out into the night, heading towards the well. His path took him past the brightly lit windows of the Elder's Hall.
He was about to hurry past when he heard his own name.
He froze, pressing himself into the deep shadows against the wall.
"…a regrettable situation, but a necessary one." It was the voice of Head Elder Gao. "Zhang Feng's family provides a third of the sect's spirit stone supply. To severely punish him would be to destabilize the entire sect."
"And the boy? Li Wei?" That was Elder Wang's voice, laced with a tension Li Wei had never heard before. "We all felt the intent in that strike. It was no accident."
"The boy is politically insignificant," Head Elder Gao replied, his tone final and cold. "His talent was becoming a threat to the established order. Zhang Feng's jealousy was a tool, and we have used it. It is… cleaner this way. He is one boy. The stability of the sect is everything. His sacrifice ensures our continued prosperity."
The words hit Li Wei with more force than Zhang Feng's sword ever had.
Politically insignificant.
A necessary sacrifice.
A tool.
They had not just allowed it to happen. They had seen his talent as a problem, and they had used Zhang Feng's pettiness to solve it. He was not a person to them. He was a variable in a political equation, one they had calmly erased.
The hot, helpless tears that had threatened all day finally dried up. The crushing sadness evaporated, burned away by a new, pure emotion. It was cold. It was hard. It was sharper than any sword.
Rage.
A righteous, all-consuming fury filled the emptiness inside him. He clenched his fists, his blunt nails digging deep into his palms until he felt the warm, slick sensation of his own blood.
They had broken his body and thrown him away like garbage.
But as he stood there in the shadows, a silent ghost in the place he once called home, a single, unwavering thought solidified in his mind, as hard and unyielding as diamond.
This was not the end. It was the first day of the war.