The Breaking Point

Wei Liang had always known two worlds.

His father, a former Shaolin monk, taught him discipline—control over the body, mastery over the mind. Balance was everything. Strength without restraint was recklessness; power without wisdom was destruction.

His mother, once a feared underground fighter, saw things differently. She taught him how real fights worked. How to strike first, how to use anything as a weapon, and how to win before the opponent even realized they'd lost.

Two philosophies. Two paths.

Wei had spent his childhood walking the line between them.

Until the night everything shattered.

It happened when he was fifteen. The streets of Foshan had their fair share of danger, but Wei had always thought his family was untouchable. His mother had been feared once—her name still carried weight among the older fighters. But fear fades, and old enemies never forget.

The attack came without warning.

Wei and his mother had been walking home from a late-night training session. The alley was quiet, the air thick with the scent of rain. Then, footsteps. Shadows moved in from all sides. A group of men—six, maybe more—stepped into the dim light.

"Long time no see, Mei," their leader said. A scar ran down his cheek, his teeth yellowed from years of smoking. "Didn't think we'd forget about you, did you?"

His mother didn't flinch.

"You should have," she said.

And then the fight began.

It was brutal. Wei had seen his mother fight before, but never like this. She moved like a demon, striking with terrifying precision. A knife flashed in her hand, carving through muscle and bone. Two men fell instantly.

But there were too many.

Wei tried to fight. He threw a kick, a punch—both deflected. A fist slammed into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled, vision blurring.

His mother fought like hell, but even she couldn't take on so many alone. Someone caught her arm. Another landed a strike to her gut. Then a pipe came down hard against her back, and she crumpled.

"Mom—!" Wei gasped, forcing himself up.

A boot to the face sent him down again.

The last thing he saw before blacking out was his mother, bleeding, unmoving.

Wei woke up in a hospital bed, pain throbbing in his skull. His father sat beside him, silent as ever.

For the first time in his life, Wei saw something in his father's eyes he had never seen before.

Disappointment.

"You weren't ready," his father said.

Wei clenched his fists. "They—they attacked us. I—"

"You were weak." His father's words cut deeper than any blade. "And because of that, you couldn't protect her."

Wei wanted to argue. He wanted to scream that it wasn't his fault. But he knew his father was right.

He had trained his whole life. He knew forms, techniques, strikes. But in a real fight? Against real killers?

He had hesitated.

And his mother had paid the price.

"She's alive," his father said after a long pause. "Barely. But this world does not forgive weakness. You have a choice, Wei. You can live in fear, or you can learn."

Wei looked down at his hands. Bruised. Useless.

No more.

From that day on, he trained with only one goal in mind—to never be powerless again.

To make sure no one could ever hurt him or the people he cared about.

And so, the storm began to rise.