chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Simple Life

The streets of the village were alive with the sounds of merchants calling out their wares, children laughing, and the occasional scolding from exasperated mothers. Among the bustling crowd, a young boy with golden eyes darted between the stalls, his small feet kicking up dust as he ran. His hair was unkempt, his clothes patched but clean, and his cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Careful, boy!" a potter shouted as he nearly knocked over a stack of clay bowls.

"Sorry, Uncle!" The boy's voice was bright, filled with laughter as he leaped onto a wooden beam jutting from a shop's wall, using it to propel himself forward. He moved with the effortless grace of someone used to running wild, weaving through the crowd like a breeze slipping through cracks in a door.

When he finally reached his destination—a modest hut on the outskirts of the village—his breath came in quick gasps, but the wide grin on his lips never wavered.

"Mama, I got it!" he called, his voice bubbling with pride as he held up a bundle wrapped in cloth.

Inside, Bei Mingzhu sat cross-legged on the floor, a fine paintbrush between her fingers as she worked on a delicate white porcelain pot. The soft glow of the lantern beside her cast a golden hue over her face, highlighting the gentle beauty she carried even in the simplicity of her life.

She looked up, her smile warm but tinged with amusement as she reached for the bundle. "That was fast, Zui'er," she said, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a fresh set of paintbrushes. "Did you run again?"

Little Bei Zui giggled, not the least bit ashamed. "Only a little."

Mingzhu sighed, shaking her head fondly as she ran her fingers through his tousled hair. "You're always in such a hurry. One day, you'll trip and fall flat on your face."

"I won't!" Bei Zui declared with confidence, puffing out his small chest. "I'm fast, Mama! Faster than anyone in the village!"

A deep chuckle came from the doorway. "Faster than me, little fox?"

Bei Zui spun around to see his father, Bei Jian, stepping inside, his sleeves rolled up and his hands stained with soil. He had been in the fields all day, tending to their small patch of land. His clothes were old and worn, his face lined with the quiet hardships of life, but his eyes—softer than his rough exterior suggested—were filled with love as he looked at his son.

"Of course, Baba!" Bei Zui grinned, running over to grab onto his father's hand. "I can beat you in a race anytime!"

Jian laughed, easily lifting the boy onto his shoulders. "Is that so? Then we'll see when you're a little older."

"Then I'll win for sure!"

Mingzhu watched them with a smile, a soft warmth filling her chest. Their home was small, their lives simple, but moments like these made the struggles feel lighter.

_____

That night, the three of them sat together in the dimly lit hut. The scent of rice broth filled the air, the steam curling from their wooden bowls. It was a humble meal—just plain rice boiled in water, without vegetables or meat—but it was warm, and it was shared.

Mingzhu hesitated before speaking, her fingers tightening around the edge of her sleeve. "I'm sorry… I know it's not much tonight."

Jian shook his head immediately, placing a reassuring hand over hers. "It's enough. You worked hard to make this, and that makes it the best meal we could have."

"But I should be able to do more—"

"Mama." Bei Zui's small voice interrupted her, and she turned to look at him.

His golden eyes were steady, filled with a quiet determination that seemed far too mature for his ten years. Without hesitation, he reached up and wiped the tear that had escaped down her cheek.

"You don't have to be sorry," he told her, voice unwavering. Then, with all the conviction in his tiny body, he added, "I'll make you proud one day, Mama. I'll study hard and become a scholar for our village. And when I grow up, I'll buy you the best food, the best clothes, and the prettiest paints!"

Mingzhu's breath caught in her throat, and Jian let out a chuckle, ruffling his son's hair. "Ah, so you're going to take care of us, huh?"

Bei Zui nodded fiercely. "Yes! I promise!"

Jian smiled, but there was something bittersweet in his eyes as he glanced at his wife. "Then I guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

The night carried on with quiet laughter, gentle teasing, and the warmth of family filling the small home. They were poor, but they were together.

_______

AT FOURTEEN

The house looked smaller than Bei Zui remembered. Maybe because, at fourteen, he had grown taller, his limbs no longer those of a child. Or maybe because the house itself had shrunk—not in size, but in presence. The warmth that once made it a home had dimmed, leaving only the walls, the leaky roof, and the tired people within it.

His father, Bei Jian, sat at the rickety wooden table, massaging his calloused hands. They were cracked, the skin peeling from long hours under the sun, gripping a hoe that no longer tilled his own land. A servant to the count now, he worked the fields from dawn till dusk, breaking his back for a few scraps of copper. His shoulders, once broad and strong, sagged with exhaustion.

His mother, Bei Mingzhu, moved around the room quietly, setting out bowls of thin porridge. Her sleeves were long, hiding the bruises that Bei Zui had long since learned to pretend he didn't see. Her fingers trembled slightly as she poured water into their cups, and when she thought no one was looking, she pressed a hand to her ribs, wincing.

Bei Zui clenched his jaw. He knew.

He knew about the beatings. Knew about the head wife of the house where his mother worked, whose jealousy ran deep and hands struck hard. Knew about the master of the house, whose lingering stares made his stomach churn.

But Mingzhu never complained.

She only smiled, as if that could erase the pain. "Eat," she said softly, placing the bowls in front of them.

Bei Jian looked at the meal and sighed. "Mingzhu, you should eat more."

"I'm not that hungry," she lied.

"You always say that."

"And it's always true," she answered lightly. "Besides, I already ate at the manor."

Another lie. Bei Zui tightened his grip on his chopsticks but said nothing.

Instead, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small pouch, dropping it onto the table. The sound of coins clinking broke the tense silence. "I sold another carving today."

Mingzhu's eyes flickered with worry, but she forced a smile. "Oh, Zui'er, you really shouldn't—"

"It's fine, Mama," he interrupted. "I like doing it."

It wasn't entirely a lie. He did like carving. It was in his blood, inherited from her. His hands were steady, his mind sharp, and his ability to shape wood into intricate designs had caught the attention of an old carver in the village. He had started working at the man's shop months ago, without his parents' knowledge. It was better this way—better than them knowing he spent his free time earning money instead of studying like they wanted.

Bei Jian exhaled through his nose, staring at the pouch. "We should be the ones providing for you, not the other way around."

"We're a family," Bei Zui said simply. "We do what we have to."

The words were met with silence.

Then, a sudden pounding at the door broke through the quiet.

"Zui! Open up, you bastard!"

Bei Zui rolled his eyes, already recognizing the voice. He stood and pulled the door open to reveal a panting, wild-eyed boy with a crooked grin and a mop of unruly hair.

Jiang Kun.

"Why are you yelling so early in the morning?" Bei Zui grumbled, rubbing his temple.

Kun grinned, grabbing him by the arm. "You're not gonna believe this! The immortals are coming!"

Bei Zui blinked. "What?"

"I'm serious! They're coming here—to our village!" Kun's words tumbled out in a rush, his excitement practically vibrating off him. "They're looking for new disciples, Zui! They're gonna do an aptitude test, and whoever passes gets taken into the sect!"

Mingzhu gasped softly, her eyes widening. Even Jian looked up from his bowl, interest flickering through his exhaustion.

Bei Zui, on the other hand, remained unmoved. "So?"

Kun gaped at him. "So? What do you mean, 'so'?! This is huge! Do you know what this means?"

"It means nothing to me."

"It means everything!" Kun practically shouted. "Think about it! If you get into the sect, you can become an immortal! You can cultivate, get stronger, and—Zui, they say immortals get rich. Filthy rich."

Bei Zui scoffed. "And you believe that?"

"I do!" Kun grinned. "And so should you! You're smart, and you're strong. You'd have a chance, Zui. A real one."

Bei Zui hesitated for the first time.

A chance.

He glanced at his mother's hands, red and swollen from endless scrubbing. At his father's hunched shoulders, bent from labor that wasn't even his own.

But then he shook his head. "No."

Kun groaned. "Come on—"

"No," Bei Zui said firmly. "I won't leave my parents behind."

"Zui'er…" Mingzhu's voice was soft, careful.

He turned to her, already sensing what she was going to say. "Mama, no."

"Zui'er," she tried again, "you should go."

His chest tightened. "You want me to leave you here?"

"You staying won't change anything," Jian spoke this time. His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it. "But if you go… maybe you can change something for yourself."

Bei Zui stared at them both, his heart pounding. "You're not serious."

Jian held his gaze, his tired eyes calm but firm. "We are."

Bei Zui felt the world tilt beneath him. His breath came uneven, chest tightening, throat burning.

Kun, oblivious to the storm rising inside him, grinned and elbowed his ribs. "See? Even your old man agrees. You should at least try. What do you have to lose?"

Bei Zui's fingers curled into his palms, nails pressing into skin. His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Everything."

Jian sighed, stepping forward. He placed a steady hand on his shoulder, the warmth of it grounding, yet unbearably heavy. "You have to be willing to lose everything to gain something greater."

Bei Zui flinched at the words. Lose everything? That wasn't an option. That wasn't something he could accept.

His mother didn't speak. She simply reached for him, her hands rough from years of washing and scrubbing, her fingertips feather-light against his cheeks. Her touch was gentle, warm, but trembling.

She looked at him then, really looked at him, her dark eyes deep with something unspoken. She wasn't asking—she was pleading.

The weight of it crashed into him, pressing against his ribs, his lungs, his very bones.

"Mama…" His voice cracked.

She didn't say a word, only pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Her lips were cold. The moment stretched, her hands lingering on his face as if memorizing him, as if already saying goodbye.

Bei Zui swallowed hard, his body rigid, his mind screaming at him to refuse.

But his father's hand was still on his shoulder, and his mother's hands were still on his cheeks, and there was no escape from the truth in their eyes.

This wasn't about him anymore.

It was about them.

For them.

His breath shuddered out of him. He felt like something inside was breaking, splintering apart in a way he couldn't stop.

Slowly, painfully, he nodded.

"Fine." The word barely left his lips.

His mother's hands fell away. His father stepped back.

Kun cheered, laughing as he threw an arm around him. "Now that's the Bei Zui I know!"

But Bei Zui didn't feel victorious.

He felt like something had been torn from him.

He felt like he had already lost.