Chapter 6 — The First Tear

Two years passed inside the prison of darkness.

Han Qian stood still, silent as stone, unmoving as the ancient peaks. The cage forged by Ao Shan and the other Rank-7 cultivators pulsed with elemental seals—fire, ice, lightning, gravity—all laced together to suppress even the will to move. Yet Han Qian didn't struggle. He simply stood.

The dragon guards watching him often whispered, confused and unsettled. Why didn't he cry? Why didn't he speak? A five-year-old child... and yet, his stillness felt heavier than a mountain.

But what they didn't understand—what no one did—was that Han Qian was not an ordinary child.

His body absorbed nature's Qi unconsciously, strengthening with every breath, every heartbeat. His muscles, bones, and blood refined by the very laws of heaven. No cultivation technique. No manual. No guidance. Just evolution.

Still, none of that mattered to him.

He remembered her.

Bai Yan.

The woman who smiled even in pain, who shielded him from fire with her body, who whispered, "Live well."

Han Qian didn't understand it all—he was still only five—but he understood enough.

And then it came.

A wave.

A shudder in his mind, a flicker in his soul, as if the memory itself cried out.

> "Live well…"

His fists clenched. "What did she mean…? Why did her face turn pale after saying that?"

Suddenly, a roar—BOOOOOM!—shattered the silence.

The prison cracked.

Seals crumbled like dried leaves.

And from the ruins rose Han Qian, eyes burning—not with anger, but longing.

He didn't care about Ao Shan.

He didn't care about the fake emperor.

All he wanted now was Bai Yan.

A dragon soldier nearby trembled, tail stiff with fear as the child walked toward him.

"W-what do you want…?" the guard stuttered, sensing death behind the boy's calm eyes.

Han Qian's voice was quiet, but it pierced like thunder:

"Where is Xuanlong?"

The name carried power, weight, and recognition. The guard fell to his knees and pointed with a trembling claw. "T-that way… in the eastern cavern…"

Without another word, Han Qian vanished from sight, leaving a blast of air and scattered stones behind.

Moments later, in the cold caverns guarded by the old spirits of the Dragon Clan, Xuanlong—once a proud mother, now broken and chained—looked up in shock. Her son cowered behind her, eyes wide.

"Han… Han Qian?" she gasped.

He stepped through the shattered door, his small frame glowing with silver and white Qi, untamed but stable.

"Are you… free?"

Instead of answering, Han Qian walked forward and knelt before her. With a gentle pulse of energy, the chains snapped and fell.

He raised his head.

"Where is… Bai Yan?"

Xuanlong froze.

The one question she didn't want to hear. The one truth that still tore her heart.

She placed a trembling claw over her chest, lowering herself to his level. "She… she is no longer with us, Han Qian."

His breath stopped.

The world dimmed.

He blinked.

"...No longer?"

"She sacrificed herself… Her body. Her soul. To buy time… so you could live."

For a long moment, silence. Then—

A drop.

A single tear.

The first tear Han Qian had ever shed in his life.

"I didn't… know…" he whispered, voice hoarse. "She told me to live well… so I never left the cage. She told me to wait…"

His fists tightened.

"But now I know."

A roar surged inside him—not like a dragon, but something more primal, older, wilder. Power burst outward from his body, enough to shake the entire cavern. His eyes glowed bright with burning grief and boundless strength.

The nearby crystals cracked. The cave trembled.

But he didn't lose control.

He breathed in deeply, calming the storm within.

"Take me to the place," he said quietly. "Where she… took her last breath."

Xuanlong's eyes widened. Even though she was a dragon—a being far older and stronger—at that moment, she respected the boy. Not because of his strength, but because of his sorrow.

She nodded slowly. "I will guide you."

"And then," Han Qian said, his voice low and steady, "you'll take me to the sect… the one responsible for her death."

He turned toward the path outside, eyes now darker, more focused.

This was not just a child anymore.

This was a soul who had tasted love… and loss.

The world would learn what they had done.