Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The First Arrow

Jin sat cross-legged in the dimly lit workshop, his fingers tracing the smooth shaft of an arrow. Liang Shen stood over him, arms crossed.

"An arrow is not just a piece of wood with feathers," the old master said. "It is balance, precision, and intent. A poorly made arrow is worse than none at all."

Jin nodded, absorbing every word. The master handed him a wooden shaft and a small knife.

"Start with this," Liang Shen instructed. "Shave it down evenly. No rush. If you ruin it, we start again."

Jin took a deep breath and began. His hands were steady, his focus sharp. Hours passed as he shaped the wood, carefully smoothing out imperfections. Liang Shen observed in silence, occasionally making corrections.

By sundown, Jin held his first completed arrow. It was far from perfect, but it was his.

"You've got patience," Liang Shen said, nodding. "That's good. Come back tomorrow."

---

Jin practically ran home that evening, excitement bubbling inside him. As soon as he stepped inside, Shin noticed the bright expression on his face.

"What happened?" Shin asked, setting aside the wooden training bow he had been working on.

Jin held up the arrow. "I made this!"

Shin took the arrow, turning it over in his hands. It wasn't as smooth or as finely crafted as the ones hunters used, but it was whole—it was real.

Jin watched his brother's face anxiously. "What do you think?"

Shin smiled, ruffling Jin's hair. "It's amazing, little brother. Your hands are steadier than I thought."

Jin beamed. "One day, I'll make the best bows and arrows in the village!"

Shin nodded. "Then I'll be the first to use them."

They laughed together, a rare moment of warmth in their small home.

---

The next morning, Jin arrived at the workshop as usual, but something was off—Liang Shen was nowhere to be seen.

Jin sighed. It wasn't unusual for the old master to disappear without warning. He had learned to keep busy, so he grabbed the broom and began sweeping. The workshop had to be in order when the master returned.

After finishing, Jin picked up a worn manuscript from the corner. Reading had become his favorite pastime, a habit Liang Shen encouraged. He was deep in thought, studying a section on fletching techniques, when a loud knock echoed through the workshop.

Jin frowned and set the manuscript aside. When he opened the door, he was met by two children—a boy and a girl.

The boy, about eleven, stood with his arms crossed, exuding arrogance. The girl, around eight, clung to his side with an air of entitlement.

Jin recognized them immediately—Lei Feng and Lei Mei, the children of the village chief.

"We're here for arrows," Lei Feng announced.

Jin hesitated. "Master Liang isn't here. You'll have to wait."

Lei Mei pouted. "I don't want to wait."

Lei Feng smirked. "Then we won't." He strode past Jin, heading toward the racks of finished arrows.

Jin quickly stepped in front of him. "You can't take them without the master's permission."

Lei Feng scoffed. "Who are you to stop me? Just an apprentice."

"I'm responsible for the workshop when Master Liang isn't here," Jin said firmly.

Lei Mei stomped her foot. "We're the chief's children! You should be honored to serve us!"

Jin clenched his fists but kept his voice calm. "It's not about honor. It's about respect. You can wait or come back later."

Lei Feng narrowed his eyes. "Move aside."

Jin didn't budge.

Lei Mei suddenly shoved him, trying to push past, but Jin instinctively stepped forward, causing her to stumble and fall onto the dusty floor.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Lei Mei's face twisted in rage, and she burst into tears. "You pushed me!"

Jin paled. "I didn't mean—"

Lei Feng's expression darkened. Without warning, he punched Jin square in the stomach. Jin gasped, doubling over.

Before he could recover, Lei Feng struck him again, sending him to the ground.

"You dare push my sister?" Lei Feng growled.

Jin struggled to breathe, pain spreading through his ribs. "I… I didn't…"

Lei Feng snatched a bundle of arrows from the rack. "We'll be taking these. Consider it punishment."

Jin gritted his teeth, watching helplessly as the two siblings strutted out of the workshop.

As the door slammed shut, he remained on the floor, fists clenched.

This wasn't over.

_ _ _

From that day forward, Jin and Mei became bitter enemies.

Every time Mei saw Jin, she would sneer and find a way to make his day miserable. If he was carrying wood for the workshop, she and her friends would "accidentally" spill water in his path, forcing him to slip. If he was sweeping, they would kick dust into the air, laughing as he coughed. If he was simply walking through the village, they would whisper loudly, calling him names like dirty apprentice or rat boy.

The worst part? No one stopped her.

The villagers saw it happening, and while some well-meaning people spoke up, the village chief simply laughed it off.

"They're just children," he said dismissively whenever someone complained. "It's just play. They'll grow out of it."

Jin knew better. This wasn't play. It was cruelty.

But he refused to show weakness. He never fought back, never complained. He gritted his teeth, bore the insults, and kept his head down.

Not everyone ignored Jin's suffering.

His immediate neighbor, Aunt Lin, often shook her head when she saw him return home covered in dust or with bruised arms.

Her daughter, Lin Yue, had been trying to be his friend since they were two years old.

She was stubborn, always trying to talk to him, but Jin ignored her at every turn. It wasn't that he disliked her—he just didn't know how to respond. He didn't trust kindness, especially from someone so persistent.

Lin Yue didn't give up easily.

"Jin!" she called one morning, skipping up to him as he carried a bundle of straw toward the workshop.

Jin kept walking.

"Jin, I know you heard me!" she huffed, catching up. "Why do you always ignore me?"

Jin shifted the weight of the straw on his back. "I don't ignore you," he muttered.

"Yes, you do! Ever since we were little!" Yue pouted. "I used to give you the best part of my steamed buns, but you always ate alone!"

Jin sighed. "You should stop wasting your time on me."

Yue frowned. "Why? Because of Mei?"

Jin's steps faltered slightly.

She crossed her arms. "I see what she does to you, you know."

Jin tensed. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Yue argued. "If you just told Shin—"

"I said it's nothing!" Jin snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

Yue flinched, her eyes widening.

Jin immediately regretted his tone, but he didn't apologize. He couldn't. He didn't know how.

Instead, he turned away and kept walking.

Yue watched him go, frustration written all over her face.

Jin made sure Shin never found out about the bullying.

He always had an excuse for his dirty clothes.

"I tripped."

"I was helping clean the stables."

"I was running and fell in the mud."

Shin believed him—at least, at first.

But sometimes, when Jin came home with bruises, Shin would frown. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Jin would force a smile. "I'm fine, big brother."

And that was the end of the conversation.

Shin worked too hard, trained too much. He didn't have time to worry. And Jin refused to add to his burdens.

So, he suffered in silence.

Because one day, he swore, he would make sure no one could ever look down on him again.