The night air in Yunchuan grew colder as the heavy footsteps drew closer to the Ling family's shack, each thud echoing like a drum of impending doom. Inside, the warmth of the small family's shared moment—Ling Xueyin's soft song, Ling Zhantian's tale of the Jade Emperor, and the simple joy of Mei Lian's steamed bun—vanished in an instant, replaced by a suffocating tension. Tianhao's heart pounded in his chest, his small hands clenching the dry bun as he stared at the door, a mix of fear and anger swirling in his dark eyes. At thirteen years old, he had seen enough of the Gray Stone Sect's cruelty to know what was coming, but the spark of defiance in his heart, ignited by his father's words earlier, refused to die.
The door burst open with a loud crack, the fragile wood splintering at the hinges, and two figures stepped inside, their presence filling the shack with an oppressive aura. Huo Gang, a broad-shouldered boy a few years older than Tianhao, stood at the forefront, his sneer as sharp as the blunt sword hanging at his waist. His gray sect robes were pristine compared to the tattered rags of the Ling family, a stark reminder of the gulf between them. Behind him loomed his father, Huo Wuchang, a tall, gaunt man with a cold, calculating gaze. His Late Lianqi Stage aura pressed down on the room like a heavy fog, making the air feel thick and hard to breathe. Zhantian instinctively stepped in front of his wife and son, his trembling hands raised in a futile gesture of protection, while Xueyin pulled Tianhao closer, her arms shaking but her grip firm.
"Well, well, the Ling family is having a little feast, I see," Huo Gang said, his voice dripping with mockery as he kicked over the small stove, sending the pot of watery porridge crashing to the floor. The meager meal spilled across the dirt, its faint warmth seeping into the cold earth. Tianhao's stomach growled at the sight, but he bit his lip, refusing to show weakness. Huo Gang's eyes flicked to him, and his sneer widened. "What's that, you little rat? A steamed bun? Did you steal it from the market again?" He lunged forward, snatching the bun from Tianhao's hands and crushing it into crumbs with a single squeeze, letting the pieces fall to the ground.
"Huo Gang, enough," Huo Wuchang said, his voice low and icy, though there was no trace of mercy in it. He stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the shack before settling on Zhantian. "Ling Zhantian, you know why we're here. The Gray Stone Sect demands its tribute—two silver coins by the end of the week. You're already late, and I'm not a patient man." His tone was calm, but the threat in his words was unmistakable, each syllable carrying the weight of a blade held to the throat.
Zhantian's face paled further, his cough worsening as he struggled to speak. "Huo Wuchang… please, we've given all we can," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "The harvest was poor this year, and I've been sick… I've been sweeping the sect's courtyard every day, but two silver coins… it's more than we can afford." He lowered his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat, the weight of years of oppression bearing down on him.
Huo Wuchang's lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. "Excuses won't pay your debt, old man," he said, his voice cutting like a whip. "The Gray Stone Sect answers to the Immortal Mist Sect, and they've increased their demands this year. If we don't meet their quota, they'll send their enforcers to Yunchuan—and I assure you, they won't be as lenient as I am." He paused, his gaze shifting to Xueyin, a glint of something darker in his eyes. "Of course… there are other ways to settle your debt. Your wife is still… presentable, despite her age. A night with her might cover half the amount."
Xueyin's grip on Tianhao tightened, her body trembling with a mix of fear and rage, but she said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line. Zhantian's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with a rare fire despite his frail state. "You dare insult my family?!" he roared, his voice hoarse but fierce, his hands clenching into fists. "I'd rather die than let you touch her!" But his defiance was short-lived; Huo Wuchang raised a hand, and a wave of Qi surged forward, slamming Zhantian against the wall with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the floor, coughing violently, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"Father!" Tianhao cried, breaking free from his mother's grasp and rushing to Zhantian's side. His small hands shook as he helped his father sit up, his heart pounding with a mix of terror and fury. He glared up at Huo Wuchang, his eyes burning with a hatred he could barely contain. "Why… why do you do this to us?!" he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "We've done nothing to you! We just want to live!"
Huo Wuchang looked down at him, his expression one of cold amusement. "Live?" he echoed, his voice laced with disdain. "You think the weak have the right to live in Tianxu? You're nothing but ants, boy—ants to be crushed underfoot. If you want to change your fate, grow strong… or die trying." He turned to Huo Gang, who had been watching with a smirk, and nodded toward Mei Lian, who was still cowering in the corner. "Take the girl. She'll fetch a few coins at the market. Maybe that'll motivate this family to pay up."
"No!" Tianhao shouted, lunging toward Mei Lian, but Huo Gang was faster. He grabbed Mei Lian by the arm, dragging her toward the door as she screamed and struggled, her small fists pounding against his grip. "Tianhao! Help me!" she cried, her voice breaking with fear. Tianhao tried to reach her, but Huo Wuchang's aura flared again, pinning him to the ground with an invisible force. He could only watch, helpless, as Mei Lian was dragged out into the night, her cries fading into the distance.
Xueyin fell to her knees beside Zhantian, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her husband's hand. "Please… don't take her," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but Huo Wuchang ignored her, his cold gaze fixed on Tianhao. "You have until the end of the week," he said, his tone final. "Two silver coins—or I'll take more than just the girl next time." With that, he turned and left, his son's cruel laughter echoing in the night as the door slammed shut behind them.
The shack fell silent, save for Zhantian's ragged breathing and Xueyin's soft sobs. Tianhao sat on the floor, his body trembling, his hands clenched so tightly that his nails drew blood from his palms. Mei Lian's cries still rang in his ears, and the image of his father crumpled against the wall burned in his mind. He felt a storm of emotions raging inside him—fear, helplessness, and a growing, searing hatred that threatened to consume him. "Why… why does it have to be like this?" he whispered, his voice shaking with a mix of despair and anger. "Father… Mother… Mei Lian… why do we have to suffer?"
Zhantian, still struggling to breathe, reached out a trembling hand to touch Tianhao's shoulder. "Because… this is Tianxu," he said weakly, his voice heavy with sorrow. "But you… you mustn't let it break you, Tianhao. You must… stay strong… for us." His words were meant to comfort, but to Tianhao, they felt hollow. How could he stay strong when the world kept taking everything from him? How could he stay kind, as his mother had urged, when kindness only led to more pain?
As the night stretched on, Tianhao sat in the darkness, the seed of hatred in his heart growing stronger with every passing moment. He didn't know how, and he didn't know when, but he made a silent vow to himself: he would find a way to make them pay. Huo Gang, Huo Wuchang, the Gray Stone Sect—they would all pay for what they had done. And in that moment, the small light of hope that had once burned in Tianhao's heart began to flicker, overshadowed by the growing shadow of vengeance.