Chapter 7: Fight

After another day of training, I saw my mother walking down the clan halls. Her long sleeves trailed behind her, swaying with each step, like the ripples of a quiet stream. The sound of her embroidered shoes against the polished wooden floor was soft, almost imperceptible, yet to me, it felt heavier than thunder.

Her expression was unreadable, but I knew her well enough by now. After Yŭxuān's battle, she was understandably upset.

But she did not act on it.

She would not act on it.

And so, I did not pay it much mind.

As I moved through the halls, two teenage disciples brushed past me, murmuring in hushed voices. I caught fragments of their conversation—something about an elder's decision, something about an upcoming match—but I ignored them.

Life would go on, even if I chose to stay in this moment.

And there was no point in looking back.

The past was a weight that anchored the weak. The future belonged to those who moved forward.

I was not weak.

My goals were clear, sharper than any blade. The immortality path—that was my desire.

I had learned from my past life that power was not simply about survival. Power was about standing above others. About ensuring no one could drag you down into the filth.

The strong did not beg. The strong did not plead.

The strong ruled.

And the weak? They were nothing more than stepping stones.

But for now, I was still weak. I had to become stronger.

30th July

A few days had passed since my little brother's birthday, since his first battle. Strife was a constant in this world, an unending war where only the worthy rose above the rest.

I had thought about my path. About the ways I could grow.

Meditation under a waterfall?

How far would that truly get me? Would sitting still, drowning under endless streams of water, open my third eye? Would it allow me to fly beyond the clouds, beyond the heavens?

No.

Meditation was slow. It was a waste of time.

Time that I could not afford to waste.

And so, on this day, I would take my next step.

Today, I would fight.

The Battle with Mùchén

Mùchén. Fourteen years old. The son of Míngzé, from the northern reaches of the Xuan Continent.

Here in the Huá clan, strength was the most valuable currency. In the entirety of the Xuan Continent, power was law.

And so we stood before each other, surrounded by clan members who whispered among themselves, eager to see how this battle would unfold.

Mùchén did not waste time.

The moment the signal was given, he lunged.

Fast. Too fast for the average human eye to perceive.

If one of the clan's younger children had watched this fight, they would have seen nothing but a blur.

But I was not the average human.

I saw.

I saw the way his muscles tensed before he moved. The faint shift in his stance. The way his foot barely brushed the dirt before he launched forward.

I saw his attack before it even landed.

But even seeing it did not mean I could avoid it.

He struck. A fierce, precise punch aimed straight for my ribs. I twisted at the last second, the impact grazing my side instead of shattering bone. Pain flared, but pain was nothing.

Pain was a lesson.

I retaliated.

My fist shot out, aiming for his jaw, but Mùchén moved with practiced grace, stepping back just enough to avoid the full force of the hit.

Our battle had begun.

And I would prove that I was no stepping stone.

Mùchén's footwork was quick, precise, honed from years of experience. He circled around me, testing, waiting for an opening. The northern warriors were known for their adaptability—if I had a weakness, he would find it.

But I refused to show one.

I clenched my fists, steadying my breathing. My ribs ached from the earlier blow, but I ignored it. Pain did not matter. Victory did.

From the sidelines, I could feel two sets of eyes on me—my father's and my little brother's.

My father, Jun Hie, stood tall, his expression unreadable. But I knew what he was thinking.

Prove yourself.

And my little brother, Yŭxuān… he watched me closely, his quiet, observant nature making him unreadable as well.

There was a value in being an older sibling. A responsibility.

To be an example.

And I could not afford to be a failure.

Mùchén rushed forward again, this time feinting left before twisting into a spinning kick. A deceptive move.

But I was ready.

I dropped low, my left foot digging into the dirt as I pivoted. The force of his kick cut through the air just above my head, missing me by mere inches. In that split second, I saw my opening.

Now.

I surged forward, slamming my elbow into his chest. A solid hit.

Mùchén staggered back, his breath hitching. His stance wavered, just for a moment—but a moment was all I needed.

I didn't let up.

I lunged, my fist cutting through the air. He barely managed to block, but even as his arms absorbed the impact, the force sent him skidding backward.

A murmur rippled through the watching clan members.

I exhaled sharply, my muscles tensing.

I could win.

I could set an example.

But Mùchén wasn't done yet.

He wiped his mouth, where a thin line of blood had formed from the impact of my strike. Then he smiled.

"Not bad," he muttered.

And then he moved.

Faster.

This time, he wasn't testing me. He wasn't gauging my reactions. He was coming at me with full force.

A blur of movement—

I barely had time to react before his palm struck my stomach with brutal force.

The air was ripped from my lungs.

Pain erupted through my body, but before I could even process it, he grabbed my collar and threw me.

The world spun.

I hit the ground hard, rolling across the dirt, the impact rattling my bones.

Silence.

From the sidelines, I heard the soft intake of breath—my little brother.

I forced myself up.

Slowly.

Shakily.

Pain did not matter.

I locked eyes with Mùchén. He was watching me, waiting. Testing to see if I would stand or crumble.

I wiped the blood from my mouth and steadied my stance.

I would not crumble.

And this fight was far from over.

The moment I stood back up, I felt it—the shift.

The atmosphere grew heavier, the space between Mùchén and me charged with silent tension. The gathered clan members whispered among themselves, but I ignored them.

All that mattered was the fight.

Mùchén cracked his knuckles, his expression unreadable. His earlier strike had left a dull ache in my ribs, but I forced myself to remain steady. Pain did not matter. Losing did.

My father, Jun Hie, remained still on the sidelines, arms crossed, his gaze sharp. Judging. Calculating. Weighing my worth.

And my little brother, Yŭxuān, stood beside him, silent. Observing. Learning.

I couldn't fail.

I wouldn't.

Mùchén moved first.

Faster than before.

He darted forward, his fist cutting through the air like a blade. I barely twisted in time, his knuckles grazing my jaw—pain flared, but I gritted my teeth and retaliated.

I grabbed his wrist mid-strike, twisting his arm to disrupt his momentum. His eyes flickered with surprise, but he adapted instantly, shifting his weight and slamming his knee toward my ribs.

I let go and jumped back just in time.

His knee struck nothing but air.

A pause.

A single breath passed between us.

Then we clashed again.

Blow after blow, neither of us relented. Dust kicked up around us, our movements too quick for the untrained eye to follow. The impact of our strikes echoed in the air, each hit resonating through my bones.

He struck—I blocked.

I countered—he dodged.

He feinted—I saw through it.

Sweat dripped down my brow, but I didn't let up. This wasn't just a fight. This was a test.

A test of strength. A test of endurance. A test of who would break first.

My breath came in sharp, controlled inhales. I could feel my body reaching its limit, but I refused to show it. Weakness was unacceptable.

Mùchén lunged, throwing a powerful right hook—his strongest attack yet.

I ducked.

Now.

I surged upward, driving my fist into his ribs. He coughed, staggering back—but I didn't stop.

I stepped in.

A second strike—his shoulder.

A third—his jaw.

His stance faltered. This was my chance.

I gathered all my remaining strength into a final strike, twisting my body as I threw my punch—

—But before it could land, a voice rang out.

"Enough."

I froze.

My fist hovered inches from Mùchén's face.

Father.

Jun Hie's voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable weight. The kind of authority that demanded obedience without question.

Slowly, I lowered my fist, stepping back. My breath was ragged, my body aching, but I forced myself to stand tall.

Mùchén straightened, wiping blood from his lip, his sharp eyes meeting mine.

For a moment, we simply stared at each other.

Then—he smiled.

"Not bad," he muttered.

I nodded, but said nothing. Words were unnecessary.

The fight was over.

I turned toward my father. His expression remained unreadable, his gaze sweeping over me, calculating, assessing.

"Good," he finally said.

A single word. Nothing more.

But it was enough.

A sense of relief settled in my chest. Not because I had impressed him—but because I had not disappointed him.

From the corner of my eye, I saw my little brother, Yŭxuān. He was still watching me, his expression unreadable.

But something in his eyes told me he had been paying close attention.

And that, more than anything, made me stand a little taller.

This fight was over.

But strife was eternal.

And this was only the beginning.

After the battle, I retreated to one of the clan's training halls, the wooden floors cool against my skin as I sat down to rest. The intricate carvings on the beams above cast long shadows under the flickering lantern light. My body still ached from the fight with Mùchén, but the pain was a familiar companion—one I had long since learned to endure.

Yŭxuān approached me, his steps light, hesitant. He had been watching from the sidelines, his sharp eyes absorbing every movement, every mistake, every victory.

"Show me a kick," I said, motioning for him to step forward.

For a moment, he hesitated. But then, without a word, he planted his feet firmly, took a breath, and struck.

His kick was swift. Sharp. Controlled.

I blinked, a quiet exhale escaping me. I had expected something sloppy, unbalanced—a child's attempt at mimicking the warriors around him. Instead, his movement carried the precision of someone who had been observing closely, learning in silence.

I couldn't help but remember when he was just a baby, small as a piglet, fragile and quiet. Back then, I never would have thought he would grow into someone like this.

"You've been practicing," I murmured.

Yŭxuān lowered his foot, looking at me with something between curiosity and expectation. He said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

I nodded. "Again."

He kicked.

Faster this time. More force behind it.

I watched him repeat the movement, each time refining it, each time growing sharper.

He was learning.

And soon, he would have to fight for real.