Chapter 1: The Weight of the Mountain

The wind howled through the jagged peaks of the Iron Fang Range, carrying with it the scent of pine and the faint tang of blood. Below the cliffs, the village of Stone Hollow clung to the mountainside like a stubborn weed, its thatched roofs trembling under the weight of late autumn frost. To the east, the sun bled red as it sank behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the training yard where Ren Kai knelt, his fists pressed into the cracked earth.

Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes, but he didn't dare wipe it away. Not with Elder Han watching. The old man stood at the edge of the yard, his gray robes billowing like storm clouds, his hands clasped behind his back.

His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, bore into Kai, judging every tremble in his arms, every hitch in his breath."Again," Elder Han said, his voice a low growl that cut through the wind.Kai gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright. His legs wobbled, but he forced them steady. Around him, the other disciples—ten in all—lay sprawled across the yard, groaning or unconscious.

Their training spears were scattered like broken twigs, and the wooden dummies they'd been striking were splintered into ruin. Kai alone remained standing, though he felt as if his bones were made of lead.

He raised his fists, assuming the stance of the Iron Fang Fist, the most basic technique taught to Stone Hollow's initiates. His knuckles were raw, split from hours of striking the stone pillar at the yard's center, but he ignored the pain. Pain was temporary. Weakness was forever.

Elder Han stepped forward, his boots crunching against the gravel. "You think you're ready for the Trial of the Fang?" he asked, circling Kai like a predator sizing up prey.

"A boy who can't even channel his qi properly?" "I'll pass," Kai said, his voice hoarse but firm. "I'll prove it."

The elder snorted, a sound halfway between amusement and disdain. "Bold words for a cripple. Your channels are clogged, your spirit weak. The mountain doesn't care about your stubbornness, boy. It crushes those who can't climb." Kai's jaw tightened.

He'd heard it all before—every day since he'd turned twelve and failed the village's qi awakening ceremony. Most children in Stone Hollow awakened their inner energy by fifteen, their meridians flaring with the power of the mountain's spirit. They moved on to learn the greater arts: the Storm Claw Strike, the Boulder-Shattering Palm, the techniques that made the Iron Fang Clan feared across the western provinces.

But Kai, now seventeen, remained unawakened. His qi, if it existed at all, was a faint trickle, barely enough to warm his hands on a cold night. And yet, he trained. Every morning before dawn, every evening until the stars burned bright. He carried water up the mountain paths until his shoulders screamed. He struck the stone pillars until his fists bled. The other disciples mocked him, calling him "Stone-Hearted Kai," a boy too foolish to know when to quit. But quitting wasn't in him. Not when the Trial of the Fang loomed just three days away.

The Trial was the clan's rite of passage. Survive the ascent of Iron Fang Peak, claim a shard of the Fang Crystal from its summit, and return alive. Those who succeeded were named true disciples, granted access to the clan's inner teachings. Those who failed… well, the vultures circling the peaks told that story. Elder Han stopped circling and faced Kai directly.

"One strike," he said, raising a single finger. "Land one strike on me, and I'll recommend you for the Trial. Fail, and you'll spend the next year scrubbing pots in the kitchens. "The other disciples stirred, some sitting up to watch. A few snickered despite their exhaustion. Kai versus Elder Han? It was like pitting a rabbit against a tiger.

Kai took a deep breath, steadying his stance. His qi might be weak, but his body was strong—forged by years of relentless effort. He didn't need fancy techniques. He just needed one opening. "Go," Elder Han said. Kai lunged, his fist arcing toward the elder's chest. The Iron Fang Fist wasn't elegant, but it was fast, a brutal strike meant to overwhelm with sheer force. The air whistled as his arm cut through it, his muscles coiling with every ounce of strength he'd built. Elder Han didn't move. Not until the last moment.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he deflected Kai's punch, redirecting the momentum. Kai stumbled forward, caught off balance, and the elder's palm slammed into his chest. The blow wasn't hard—not by Han's standards—but it sent Kai sprawling into the dirt, gasping for air. "Pathetic," Elder Han said, turning away.

"Kitchens it is." Laughter erupted from the disciples. Kai pushed himself up, spitting dust from his mouth. His chest throbbed, but his eyes burned hotter. He wasn't done. Not yet. "Again" he rasped. Elder Han paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"What?" "Give me another chance," Kai said, climbing to his feet. "One more strike." The elder's brow furrowed, but something flickered in his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or irritation. "You're a fool, boy. But fine. One more. Make it count."

This time, Kai didn't rush in. He circled, watching the elder's stance, the subtle shift of his weight. Han was old, but his reflexes were honed by decades of combat. A direct attack wouldn't work. Kai needed something else. He feinted left, then darted right, aiming a low kick at Han's knee. The elder stepped back, effortless as ever, but Kai was ready.

He twisted mid-motion, channeling his stumble into a spinning elbow aimed at Han's ribs. It was sloppy, unorthodox—not a technique the clan taught—but it was all he had. The elbow grazed Han's robe. Not a solid hit, not even close, but the elder's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Then his palm struck again, this time sending Kai crashing into the stone pillar with a grunt. Silence fell over the yard. The disciples stared, mouths agape.

Kai lay crumpled at the pillar's base, his vision swimming, but he forced a grin. He'd touched the elder. Barely, but it was something. Elder Han rubbed his side where the elbow had brushed him, his expression unreadable. "Reckless," he muttered. "Stupid. But… persistent." He turned to the disciples. "Training's over. Get out of my sight." As the others scrambled away, Han lingered, staring down at Kai. "You'll take the Trial," he said finally.

"Not because you're ready—because you're not—but because I want to see how far that stubbornness carries you before the mountain breaks you."Kai nodded, too winded to speak. The elder walked off, leaving him alone in the yard as the wind picked up, colder now that night had fallen.Later, in the cramped hut he shared with his mother, Kai sat cross-legged on a straw mat, bandaging his hands. The flickering light of a single oil lamp cast shadows across the room, illuminating the patched walls and the small shrine to the Mountain Spirit in the corner.

His mother, Lin Mei, knelt beside him, her fingers deftly grinding herbs into a paste for his bruises."You shouldn't push yourself so hard," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of years spent worrying. Her hair, once black as ink, was streaked with gray, and her hands trembled slightly as she worked. "The Trial isn't worth your life."

"It's worth everything," Kai replied, wincing as she pressed the paste into a cut on his knuckle. "If I pass, we won't have to live like this. I'll be a true disciple—maybe even an inner disciple one day. We'll have a real house, food that isn't half-rotten. You won't have to break your back in the fields. "Lin Mei sighed, setting the bowl aside.

"And if you fail? The peak doesn't forgive, Kai. Your father—""Don't," Kai cut in, sharper than he meant. He softened his tone. "I'm not him. I won't disappear."Her eyes glistened, but she said nothing more. Kai's father had been a disciple too, a promising one, until he'd vanished during his own Trial fifteen years ago.

No body, no shard—just rumors of a storm that swept him off the mountain. Kai didn't remember him, but the absence was a wound that never healed.He stood, flexing his bandaged hands. "I'll be back in three days, Ma. With the shard."She grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Promise me you'll come back. Shard or no shard."

"I promise," he said, meeting her gaze. Outside, the night was still, the wind dying down to a whisper. Kai stepped onto the dirt path, his eyes drifting to Iron Fang Peak looming in the distance. Its silhouette was a jagged scar against the starry sky, its summit hidden in clouds. Three days. Three days to prove he wasn't a cripple, wasn't a failure. As he turned back to the hut, something caught his eye—a faint glow pulsing beneath the floorboards near the shrine. He frowned, stepping closer. The light flickered, soft and blue, like a heartbeat. He'd never seen it before, not in all the years he'd lived here.

"Ma?" he called. "What's that?" Lin Mei appeared in the doorway, her face paling as she followed his gaze. "It's nothing," she said quickly. "Just… an old trinket. Go to bed, Kai. You need rest." But the glow lingered in his mind as he lay on his mat that night, restless. It wasn't a trinket. It was something more—something tied to the mountain, to the Trial, to him. And in three days, he'd find out what.