A year passed by in a blink.
A monument to Xing Jue's dedication now stood atop the mountain peak – a colossal iron pillar, five feet thick and several stories tall. It was planted deep into the mountain's rocky heart, resembling the legendary staff of the Monkey King, an unyielding symbol of unbreakable might.
But upon closer inspection, the pillar's invincibility proved to be an illusion. The iron surface was marred with palm prints, some barely an inch deep, others plunging several inches into the metal. They were a testament to a year's worth of tireless practice.
Xing Jue stood before the pillar, a figure cloaked in black, his clothes billowing in the wind. Gone was the boyish softness; in its place was an air of maturity, a quiet confidence that radiated from him. He raised his right hand, and as he did, ribbons of golden Martial Qi surged into it, illuminating it with an otherworldly glow.
His hand crackled with energy, the golden light intensifying with each passing second until it became nearly blinding. A wave of oppressive energy rolled out from him, pressing down on the clearing.
"Wind Devouring Palm!" he roared, unleashing the pent-up energy in a thunderous explosion of force. A translucent, golden palm print, identical to his own, shot out from his hand, trailing a stream of glowing afterimages as it hurtled towards the iron pillar.
The impact reverberated through the air, a deafening boom that shook the very foundations of the mountain. The ground trembled.
A new palm print, a full eight inches deep, marked the iron pillar. Hairline fractures spread out from the impact zone, spider-webbing across the pillar's entire length.
Then, it shattered.
Xing Jue watched as the once mighty pillar crumpled to the ground, reduced to a pile of twisted, broken metal. A slow smile spread across his face. "Finally," he murmured.
A year of grueling training had yielded incredible results. Not only had he mastered the "Wind Devouring Palm," a Xuan-Rank Low-Tier Martial Skill, but he had also reached the peak of the High-Rank Martial Disciple realm, a mere hair's breadth away from the coveted Martial Master realm. His progress was nothing short of monstrous.
The Xing Clan Elders, he thought with a touch of grim satisfaction, would be kicking themselves for casting him aside if they knew what he had achieved.
A sudden, searing heat emanated from the Communication Talisman hanging around his neck, snapping him out of his thoughts. The talisman flashed brightly before disintegrating into a puff of smoke.
He had given Old Zhang the other half of the talisman, a precaution in case trouble ever found its way back to the tavern. It seemed their troubles weren't over after all.
Xing Jue didn't hesitate. He shot down the mountain, moving with a speed that would shame a cheetah, his mind racing with worry.
At the foot of the mountain, in the familiar warmth of the Xing Wine Tavern, Old Zhang paced anxiously. He clutched a small, golden envelope in his hand, the characters for "Invitation" emblazoned on its front in elegant calligraphy.
"Old Zhang, who's the invitation from? You seem so troubled," Xiao Hong asked, her curiosity piqued. A year had passed, but the memory of that day, the day the town bully had learned a harsh lesson, was still fresh in her mind.
Old Zhang smiled gently. "Xiao Hong, have you heard of the Tri-Clan Gathering in Yun Zong City?"
"Of course!" she exclaimed. "It's a grand event held once every three years. The three great martial families of Yun Zong City – the Xings, the Zhaos, and the Lüs – gather to pit their most promising young talents against each other. The winner receives not only a treasure trove of rewards but also secures control of the city for their clan for the next three years." Even for a young girl like her, the significance of the Tri-Clan Gathering was clear.
"That's right," Old Zhang said, handing her the golden envelope. "And this is an invitation to the Gathering."
Xiao Hong's eyes widened as she accepted the invitation. "An invitation to the Tri-Clan Gathering? But… those are only sent to the nobility and the most esteemed guests. Why would it upset you?"
She carefully unsealed the envelope and unfolded the invitation within. Her eyes scanned the elegant calligraphy before widening in realization. "This … this is for Xing Jue!"
Old Zhang had told them Xing Jue's story, the tale of a fallen prodigy, discarded by the prestigious Xing Clan when his potential turned out to be nothing more than a cruel illusion. He had gone from being groomed for greatness to managing a tavern in a remote town. It was a fall from grace of epic proportions.
Xiao Hong was a sharp girl. She understood the turmoil brewing in Old Zhang's heart. He was worried about Xing Jue. To attend the Tri-Clan Gathering, a competition specifically designed to showcase the brilliance of the young generation of Martial Artists, would undoubtedly reopen old wounds, reminding him of everything he had lost.
"You're right," Old Zhang sighed, a hint of admiration in his eyes for the young girl's perception. "The invitation is indeed for Xing Jue." It didn't make sense, though. Why would the Xings invite him? As far as they were concerned, Xing Jue was nothing more than a disgrace. Even if they hadn't completely disowned him, his status wouldn't grant him access to an event as important as this. There was more to this invitation than met the eye, but Old Zhang couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what it was.
"The Tri-Clan Gathering, huh?" a light, youthful voice rang out from the tavern's entrance. "Sounds like I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Xing Jue strode in, an easy confidence in his stride. He had overheard their conversation – reaching the High-Rank Martial Disciple realm had its perks, enhanced senses being one of them – and he knew exactly what Old Zhang was worried about.
But Old Zhang didn't know what Xing Jue had accomplished during his year of seclusion. He didn't know the depths of Xing Jue's newly acquired power, a power that would put the Xing Clan's most prized prodigies to shame. This invitation wasn't a curse; it was an opportunity, a chance for Xing Jue to announce his return to the world and reclaim what was rightfully his.
He even knew who was behind this invitation—Xing Feng. The memory of that smug, superior face flashed in his mind. Xing Feng, the boy who had always lived in Xing Jue's shadow, who had taken immense pleasure in Xing Jue's downfall. This invitation… this was a challenge, a chance for Xing Feng to put Xing Jue back in his place, to prove once and for all that he, Xing Feng, was the superior talent.
Little did he know he had just made a grave mistake.
"You're… you're sure about this, Xing Jue?" Old Zhang asked, his voice thick with concern.
"An invitation from the Xing Clan? As a member of the Xings," Xing Jue said, grabbing an apple from a nearby bowl and biting into it, "I wouldn't dream of refusing." His smile was unwavering, the smile of a young man who knew his own worth.
Old Zhang looked at him, really looked at him, and a wave of relief washed over him. Xing Jue was gone. The boy he had grown to care for was gone, replaced by someone else, someone forged in the fires of adversity. The Xing Jue standing before him radiated the same confidence and unshakeable determination that had once made him the envy of the entire Xing Clan.
Perhaps, Old Zhang thought with a ghost of a smile, his worries were indeed misplaced.