Chapter 11: The Day Everything Changed
Ten years ago, in the Great Yan Kingdom, beneath the towering golden halls of the Grand Palace, the air inside the royal chambers was thick with tension.
The room was dimly lit, the glow of candlelight flickering against the polished marble floors. Intricate tapestries of past wars and conquests lined the walls, but tonight, no one paid them any mind.
At the center of the room, a young boy lay on a grand bed draped in silk. His breath was steady, his face peaceful in sleep, but the atmosphere around him was anything but.
An imperial physician hovered over the child, fingers pressed against his wrist, his Qi probing deep within his meridians. Beads of sweat formed on the old man's forehead as his brows furrowed in deep concentration.
Around him, silent figures watched.
Among them stood a man of towering presence, shirtless, his hard muscles like chiseled stone. A gorilla pelt rested on his broad shoulders, his very presence suffocating.
The King of Great Yan.
His arms were crossed, his gaze sharp as a blade. He stood still as a mountain, his presence dominating the room, waiting for the physician to speak.
The old man's hands trembled as he withdrew them.
Then, he looked up, his face pale as death.
He turned to the King, bowing deeply.
"Your Majesty…" his voice wavered, though he tried to keep it steady. "I have examined the young prince's condition."
A moment of silence.
The physician took a slow breath before speaking the words that would forever change the boy's fate.
"All the meridians that allow internal Qi to flow outward… have been blocked."
A cold hush settled over the room.
The King's expression didn't change, but his presence grew heavier. The air itself seemed to crack under his silence.
When he finally spoke, his voice was deep—a sound like rolling thunder.
"So, what does this mean?"
The physician swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists as he bowed lower.
"It means… the prince's Qi can no longer be fully utilized. His body still produces Qi, but it is trapped within him, unable to be released outward."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then, slowly, the King turned his gaze toward the boy on the bed.
Zhang Se, now awake, met his father's stare.
And in those cold, calculating eyes—he saw no sadness.
No concern.
Only disappointment.
Not the disappointment of a father mourning for his son.
But the disappointment of a ruler who had lost a prodigy.
Zhang Se's small hands clenched the silk sheets beneath him.
A dull ache spread through his chest, different from the pain in his meridians.
His gaze shifted—to his brothers standing at the side of the room.
Their faces were unreadable.
But Zhang Se had always been sharp, even as a child.
He could see it—the faintest flicker of satisfaction in their eyes.
His fall meant their rise.
No longer was he an obstacle. No longer was he the destined heir.
They should have been his brothers.
But in this palace, blood ties meant nothing.
His jaw clenched.
Zhang Se forced himself to breathe. He refused to let them see his pain.
He turned away from their silent gloating, and in that moment—
He met the gaze of one person who truly looked at him with sorrow.
A small girl.
No older than six, her delicate features twisted in concern, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides.
His little sister, Mei Lian.
Her eyes, unlike the others, held no relief at his downfall.
Only sadness.
Only fear.
For him.
His throat tightened.
She was the only one. The only one who truly cared.
But in this cold palace—what good did that do?
__________________________
A few weeks later.
The training grounds of the Great Yan Palace were vast—an open field of hardened stone, stained with the sweat and blood of warriors. The sky above was a dull gray, as if mourning the fate of the boy who lay sprawled on the cold ground.
Zhang Se.
His body was a mess. His once-pristine robes were now tattered and soaked in deep red. Bruises and cuts marred his skin, and his right leg twisted at an unnatural angle.
He could barely breathe. Every inhale burned his lungs, every exhale felt like shards of glass scraping his throat.
Yet, above him, his brothers stood tall, their figures casting shadows over him. Their robes were immaculate. Not a drop of blood stained their clothes, not a single wound marred their skin.
Because this wasn't a fight.
It was a slaughter.
Zhang Se gritted his teeth. He refused to look away.
He knew how this had ended every time over the past few weeks. Beaten, humiliated, left broken on the ground while they walked away unscathed.
But still… he refused to break.
His father had ordered him to continue training with his brothers, as if he were still the same prodigy from before.
But he wasn't.
They all had their Qi. Their blades were wreathed in power, their bodies enhanced by energy that flowed freely. They moved faster, hit harder, stood above him as gods while he was nothing more than a cripple.
And yet—his father never once told them to hold back.
No. The King of Great Yan had watched as his son was cut down again and again, his face unreadable, his cold eyes unmoving.
Zhang Se should have given up by now.
But he couldn't.
The hatred burning in his chest wouldn't let him.
His fingers dug into the stone beneath him, clawing at the ground. His nails split, but he didn't care.
His leg was broken. His body was wrecked.
But he still had his Qi.
His cursed Qi.
It was inside him, pulsing, flowing, filling him with power. But it was trapped, unable to be released. It was like a raging storm locked inside a glass prison.
Why?
Why was he cursed like this?
Why did the heavens take everything from him?
His breathing grew heavy, rage swirling inside him like a storm.
No.
He wouldn't accept this.
He couldn't.
If his Qi wouldn't come out—then he would force it out.
His hands trembled as he closed his eyes and focused inward.
He could feel it—his own power, raging within him, desperate to be unleashed.
His Qi had always been sharp, refined, controlled. He had the talent for it, the ability to bend it to his will.
So why?
Why wouldn't it obey him now?
His brothers were walking away, their voices distant, laughing.
His father had already turned his back.
Zhang Se clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood.
No more.
With all his might, he pushed his Qi toward his blocked meridians.
A sharp pain exploded in his chest.
His vision blurred.
It felt like his own power was tearing him apart from the inside.
His muscles spasmed. His breath hitched. But he refused to stop.
He would break this curse. He would take back what was his.
He pushed harder.
The pain turned unbearable, like molten fire coursing through his veins.
His body screamed at him to stop.
But Zhang Se screamed louder.
"BREAK, DAMN YOU!"
And then—
Something inside him… ripped.
A sensation like shattered chains.
The world around him exploded in color.
His Qi—his real Qi—burst forth like an untamed beast.
A wave of energy rippled from his body, shaking the ground beneath him.
His wounds began to close, his broken leg realigning itself, his strength returning in full.
He gasped, feeling the power he once wielded surge back into him.
He had done it.
He had forced open his meridians.
A laugh bubbled up in his throat, pure relief washing over him.
He felt alive again.
He couldn't wait—he had to tell his father.
He had to show him that he was still the same prodigy from before.
That he was not a failure.
That he was still worthy.
But then—
A sudden, sharp pain stabbed through his chest.
His breath hitched.
The world spun.
His vision darkened.
Before he could even process what was happening—
He collapsed.
And everything faded to black.
__________________________
When Zhang Se woke up, the first thing he felt was pain.
A deep, pounding ache throbbed in his skull, as if someone were hammering into his brain. His body felt heavy, his limbs sluggish, his breathing shallow.
The room around him was dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns. The familiar wooden ceiling of his chamber loomed above him, but it felt… different.
Colder.
Like a prison.
His ears rang, but through the dull noise, he could hear someone speaking.
"Prince Zhang Se, you are awake," came the voice of the imperial physician.
Zhang Se blinked, his vision adjusting, and turned his head slightly. The physician stood near his bedside, his expression grim, his aged hands folded behind his back.
Something was wrong.
"…What happened?" Zhang Se's voice was hoarse, weaker than he wanted it to be.
The physician hesitated, his wrinkled face tightening. Then, with a sigh, he spoke:
"You forced your Qi through your blocked meridians... and in doing so, you have damaged your soul."
Zhang Se's body stiffened.
A creeping dread crawled up his spine.
"What… do you mean?" His throat was dry.
The physician's gaze remained steady, but there was a glimmer of pity in his old eyes.
"Your soul has suffered severe damage. The forceful rupture of your meridians has permanently affected your lifespan. Your life force has been diminished… If you attempt to do it again—" The physician paused, then spoke in a tone heavy with warning.
"…You may not survive."
The words hit like a knife to the chest.
Zhang Se's breath caught.
His fingers curled into the sheets beneath him, his nails digging in.
The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in on him.
If he tried again, he would die.
If he tried to take back his power, he would die.
It was a fate worse than being crippled.
The physician watched him for a moment, then bowed respectfully.
"I will take my leave, Your Highness. Rest."
With those final words, the old man turned and exited the room, leaving Zhang Se alone.
Silence.
A suffocating, heavy silence.
He sat up slowly, his hands trembling.
His eyes fell to his own palms, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else.
His hands…
The same hands that once held a sword with ease. The same hands that once carried power.
Now?
Weak.
Useless.
His grip tightened.
How will I protect anyone… if I'm this weak?
His vision blurred, but he refused to let his tears fall.
Because deep inside, he already knew.
The world had no place for the weak.