"The former prodigy is now inferior to even an ordinary disciple," a younger clan member jeered.
"A waste will always be a waste. Do you still dream of recovering?" another mocked, his tone dripping with disdain.
Each word pierced Fen Jin's heart like a dagger. Suppressing his rage, he lowered his head and left the clan's training grounds, returning to his rundown courtyard. The scene remained unchanged—overgrown weeds, a decaying wooden house, long devoid of its past glory.
Night fell, and silence enveloped the surroundings. Fen Jin sat cross-legged on his bed, striving to calm his turbulent emotions. The scorn and mockery from earlier gnawed at his mind, but he knew that only through composure could he find a way forward. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to circulate the remnants of his Dou Qi—so faint that it was almost forgotten.
Yet, his energy remained still, unresponsive.
Despair washed over him. Was this truly his fate? Would he never regain the power he once possessed?
Just as he was about to give up, a sudden warmth flared deep within his dantian. The sensation was both foreign and familiar, as though an ancient force was stirring awake within him.