Biggening Of New Path

A soft hush fell as I opened my eyes. Outside, rain didn't merely fall—it performed. Each drop glistened like silvery threads spun from moonlight, weaving a delicate veil between heaven and earth. The air carried the earthy scent of petrichor, and droplets tapped the wooden beams above like dancers in a silent ballet. Beneath it all, a gentle hum seemed to swell—a natural symphony of sorrow and grace.

Through the shimmering curtain, a man in elegant, old‑fashioned attire leaned forward and lifted me gently. His calm, authoritative voice cut through the soundscape:

"His name shall be Seung‑yong."

🌸 Three Days Later

I lie in a cradle, and everyone regards me as the blessing of the Namgung Clan. I am the youngest child of clan head Namgung Jinhwan and his wife, Han Myeongseong. Their eldest, Namgung Jaemin, already follows the path of commerce set by our ancestors.

Though heaven has granted me a second chance, memories of my beloved uncle still haunt me.

A sudden wail pierces the room. My new mother coaxes me, softly:"There, there, my baby—don't cry. Mommy is right here."

But grief wells within me, and I sob harder. Mother falters in surprise. Then clan head Jinhwan enters, his cold gaze falling on me like a shadow. Fear grips my heart.

He picks me up and holds me close, voice soft yet firm:

"My child, you are born to rule this world—not to cry."

Though I cannot speak, his sorrow echoes my own.

He continues:

"We may be wealthy, but wealth alone cannot protect you. You must walk the right path—forge your own destiny."

Mother rolls her eyes in playful jealousy:"Father–son bonding stronger than mother–son, huh?"

Father teases kindly:"Don't be jealous—apparently, he loves me more."

Mother shoves him, and he stumbles lightly. It becomes clear: he is a warrior at heart yet gentle in spirit; she, graceful in appearance but commanding and resolute.

🎂 Ten Years Later

On my tenth birthday, the estate falls silent as a striking man descends from above. Mother gasps, tears welling:

"Father? Is that you?"

I wonder: He resembles my mother's younger brother…

Mother rushes forward, but he remains composed. He is Fang Han, the legendary Great Cultivator—power radiating from him. I sense his might, though I don't yet understand cultivation. A chill of awe grips my heart.

He halts before me, eyes fixed with fierce intensity. Finally, in a hushed voice of wonder, he whispers:

"As expected of my grandchild."

Mother's voice trembles:

"I might forgive you for this child…"

Silence falls.

Confusion floods me.

Mother pleads:

"Father, I don't want my child walking a path of blood."

His voice is unwavering:

"You have no right to decide his fate—only he can."

Brother steps forward, voice low but firm:

"Don't come near him."

Grandfather smiles wryly:

"Brave, but talentless."

He regards brother… then me.

He motions—an elder in austere robes, Elder Wang, steps through a glowing portal. He kneels, awaiting command.

Grandfather declares:

"Take this child as your disciple."

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Mother pales—Elder Wang is known for his unmatched strength and rigidity.

She grips grandfather's leg in tears:

"Father, please—don't tear their gentleness."

He lifts her with solemn disappointment:

"When have I ever taught weakness to my child?"

I bow deeply:

"Grandfather, I will walk the path you set. Allow my brother to follow his own dreams."

He nods, satisfied.

He gives me five books and three scrolls:

"Study and master what's written here by your fifteenth birthday. Only then may you unseal the scrolls. Cease prematurely, and you risk folly."

With that, he disappears eastward.

Mother hugs me, tears shaking her voice:

"Why did you choose this path, my child?"

I hold her and reply gently:

"I want to protect everyone I love."

She smiles softly:

"So soon you want a bride, my boy?"

My cheeks flush cherry-red:

"That's not what I meant!"

Father joins us, eyes misty with pride:

"I couldn't protect everyone before—but I vow to give you everything needed for your growth. We are the wealthiest in the West. Use our strength."

Brother wipes away a tear. Mother asks:

"Jaemin, why are you crying?"

He steadies himself:

"I'm not crying—if my brother doesn't cry, then I won't either."

We embrace—what was once intensity transforms into tender unity.

The next morning, I wake to find myself thrown out of bed, cold floor greeting me.

Mother stands over me with stern authority:

"Young man, this is your first day of training."

After washing, she commands:

"Run fifty laps—about five hundred meters—around the courtyard."

Midway, exhaustion tightens my chest, breath ragged.

Mother's voice rings sharp:

"Stop? Then there'll be no dinner tonight!"

Forced onward, my mind races:

Why did I choose this path? T‑T

Her voice echoes behind me:

"This is just the beginning, my dear."