The blazing sun scorched the barren land, and yellow sand danced violently in the wind. In the heart of the desolate wilderness, a small, decrepit village stood in solitude, battered by the unforgiving elements. The village, long abandoned by fortune and hope, seemed as though it had been forgotten by the world. At the edge of the village, a ramshackle thatched cottage swayed precariously in the wind, its structure on the verge of collapse. Inside the cottage, a young man knelt by a small, worn bed, his eyes red and swollen with tears.

"Mother… please, you must hold on!" Ling Yan choked out, his voice hoarse with desperation. His trembling hands clung to his mother's cold fingers, refusing to let go. Despair weighed heavily on his heart, suffocating him under its relentless pressure.

Lying on the bed was Ling Yan's mother, Ling Shi, her face pale, her lips blue, and her breath faint. Her once vibrant eyes were now dull, clouded by the shadow of death that loomed ever closer. She had been gravely injured, her condition deteriorating with each passing moment. For years, she had managed to keep her strength, but now her body had succumbed to the irreversible damage inflicted upon her.

"Yan'er…" Ling Shi whispered weakly, her voice like a dying ember in the wind. "Do not weep for me… You must live on… You must become strong…"

Ling Yan's heart twisted in agony at her words. He had heard those words countless times in his life—words of encouragement from a mother who had given everything to protect him. Yet now, as he gazed at her frail, withering form, the weight of those words felt heavier than ever. He had no power to help her, no means to change her fate. His helplessness gnawed at his soul.

"I will, Mother! I swear I will become stronger, I will avenge you!" Ling Yan's voice cracked as he fought back the sobs that threatened to escape his throat. His mother's face blurred through the veil of tears that filled his eyes, but he could still feel her warmth in his hand—a warmth that was rapidly fading.

Outside the cottage, the wind howled like a mournful dirge, the sand scraping against the wooden walls with a relentless hiss. It was as though the earth itself was weeping, sharing in Ling Yan's grief. The suffocating air was thick with the stench of death, and every breath felt like a weight pressing down on Ling Yan's chest, suffocating him.

"Yan… You must promise me," Ling Shi rasped, her eyes closing as if each word was draining her last ounce of strength. "Promise me… you will survive… and find your own path to strength…"

Ling Yan clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms as he nodded vigorously. "I promise, Mother… I won't let you down."

For a moment, there was silence. The wind outside seemed to pause, and the world held its breath. Then, suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke through the stillness, growing louder and more urgent. The door to the cottage was thrown open with a force that rattled the entire structure, and several men clad in black burst inside, their eyes cold and merciless.

"There she is," the leader of the group sneered, his voice thick with malice. In his hand, he held a bloodstained long knife, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. "The old hag didn't make it far, brothers. Let's finish the job."

Ling Yan's heart stopped for a split second as he recognized the intruders. These were assassins from the infamous Tian Xie Sect, an organization notorious for their ruthless pursuit of power and their mastery of forbidden arts. It was their ambush that had left his mother in this state, and now they had come to finish what they had started.

"You fiends!" Ling Yan roared, his voice cracking with fury. He sprang to his feet, grabbing an old, rusted short sword that lay nearby. Though his heart was filled with rage, his body trembled with fear. He was still weak—too weak to stand against such formidable enemies. But he had no choice. If he didn't fight, they would slaughter both him and his mother.

With a burst of desperation, Ling Yan charged at the leader, brandishing the short sword with all the strength he could muster. But his efforts were futile. Before his blade could even reach its target, the leader kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him flying backward. Ling Yan crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, blood spurting from his mouth as he crumpled to the ground.

"A pathetic wretch like you dares to challenge me?" The leader of the assassins sneered, his eyes filled with disdain.

Ling Yan's body screamed in pain, but he forced himself to rise. His vision blurred, and the taste of blood filled his mouth, yet he refused to stay down. His grip on the short sword tightened, and his gaze remained locked on the assassins. His mother's words echoed in his mind—he couldn't give up now. If he died here, who would avenge her?

His mind raced, recalling the combat techniques his mother had taught him since childhood. Every movement, every strike, every defense—he replayed them in his mind, willing his body to respond despite the pain coursing through him. Though his spiritual energy was faint, a fire burned deep within his soul.

Another kick sent Ling Yan crashing to the ground once more. This time, he felt as though every bone in his body was screaming in agony. Yet, even in the face of such pain, his grip on the sword never faltered. His eyes remained locked on the black-clad assassins, filled with a maddened resolve.

"I won't die… not like this…" Ling Yan muttered through gritted teeth, his voice barely more than a whisper. His body trembled, but his will remained unshaken.

"Heh, some backbone, but it's worthless." The assassin leader laughed, his voice dripping with contempt. He raised his long knife high above his head, ready to deliver the final blow.

At that critical moment, a sudden roar erupted from the bed behind Ling Yan. Ling Shi, summoning the last of her strength, infused a sliver of spiritual energy into the jade pendant she always wore around her neck. With a burst of energy, she flung the pendant into the air, and it transformed into a glowing barrier that appeared in front of Ling Yan.

"Boom!" The long knife struck the barrier with a deafening crash, and the entire room shook from the impact. The barrier shattered into a thousand fragments of light, but it had done its job—it had blocked the fatal blow.

The leader of the assassins stared in shock for a brief moment, then his face twisted into a mask of rage. "That old witch still has strength left? Brothers, kill them both!"

The assassins surged forward as one, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust. Ling Yan, weakened and barely able to stand, positioned himself in front of his mother, determined to protect her to the very end. His short sword trembled in his hands, and he knew he stood little chance against their combined assault.

But just as the assassins closed in, a sudden burst of light erupted from the far corner of the room. It was an ancient scroll, seemingly plain and unremarkable, but it radiated an intense heat that made the air around it shimmer. All eyes turned to the scroll, captivated by its presence.

"The Burning Sky Technique!" the assassin leader gasped, greed flashing in his eyes. He recognized the scroll for what it was—a long-lost forbidden technique of immense power.

Ling Yan's heart raced as he felt the scroll's energy wash over him. It was as though the scroll was calling out to him, beckoning him to take hold of it. Without thinking, he lunged forward, grasping the scroll with both hands just as the assassins reached him.

"Stop him!" the leader roared, raising his knife to strike.

But as soon as Ling Yan's fingers touched the scroll, a torrent of overwhelming power surged through his body, enveloping him in an aura of blazing heat. The scroll ignited, its energy roaring to life as though it sought to burn the entire world to ashes.

"What… what is this power?" the assassin leader stammered, his face draining of color as he felt the terrifying heat emanating from Ling Yan. He staggered backward in fear.

Ling Yan felt as though his entire body was on fire, the searing heat threatening to consume him entirely. His vision blurred, and his consciousness began to fade, but he clung to the scroll with all his strength. This was his only chance.

In that moment of agony, a deep, ancient voice echoed in his mind: "Young one, do you desire revenge?"

Ling Yan was stunned for a brief second, but then he shouted with all the strength he had left, "Yes! I want revenge! I want to become stronger!"

The voice chuckled softly, its tone filled with dark amusement. "Very well. Are you willing to cultivate under me? This path will be fraught with danger, and one misstep could lead to your soul's destruction."

"I am willing!" Ling Yan roared, his heart ablaze with a fierce determination. He had no other choice.

"Good," the ancient voice said, a hint of satisfaction in its tone. "Your resolve has been acknowledged. From this moment on, your fate is tied to the Burning Sky Technique. Now, let us see if you can endure the trials that await."

As the voice faded, Ling Yan felt an immense torrent of information flood into his mind. The sheer volume of knowledge threatened to overwhelm him, and the searing pain from the flames intensified, nearly causing him to lose consciousness. His body trembled violently, and his muscles burned as though they were being torn apart from the inside. But through it all, Ling Yan held fast to the scroll, refusing to release his grip. He knew that if he let go now, he would never get another chance.

The assassins, watching the scene unfold, began to back away in fear. The leader, once so confident in his strength, now trembled as he felt the raw power radiating from Ling Yan. His face twisted in terror as the room around them grew hotter, the flames threatening to engulf everything.

"We can't fight this!" one of the assassins shouted, panic evident in his voice. "We need to retreat!"

Without waiting for further orders, the assassins turned and fled the cottage, abandoning their mission. Their footsteps quickly faded into the distance, leaving Ling Yan alone in the burning room.

Ling Yan collapsed to the ground, clutching the scroll tightly. His entire body felt like it was being consumed by fire, and every breath was a struggle. His mother's lifeless body lay beside him, her eyes gently closed, a single tear still lingering at the corner of her eye. The weight of the world pressed down on Ling Yan's chest, and he fought to stay conscious, his mind racing through the flood of knowledge that now filled his head.

He didn't know how long he lay there, writhing in pain as the power of the Burning Sky Technique flowed through him. Hours, perhaps days, seemed to pass in a blur of agony. But slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to subside. The flames that had once threatened to consume him began to calm, and Ling Yan felt a strange sense of clarity settle over him.

His body had been pushed to its absolute limits, but he could feel the change within him. His meridians, once narrow and fragile, had been widened and strengthened by the intense heat. His spiritual energy, which had been weak and unrefined, now flowed more smoothly through his body, carrying with it the power of the Burning Sky Technique.

Ling Yan's heart pounded in his chest as he opened his eyes, the dim light of the cottage casting shadows across the room. He sat up slowly, wincing at the lingering pain in his muscles, but he could feel the strength coursing through his veins. It was as though he had been reborn, his body and spirit transformed by the flames.

With great effort, Ling Yan rose to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him. He looked down at the scroll in his hands—the Burning Sky Technique had quieted, its flames reduced to a faint, warm glow. He could feel its power still thrumming within him, but it no longer threatened to consume him.

Ling Yan's gaze shifted to his mother's body, and a deep sorrow filled his heart. She had given everything to protect him, sacrificing her life to ensure that he had a chance to survive. And now, she was gone.

"I swear, Mother," Ling Yan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I will make them pay for what they've done to you. I will grow stronger, and I will bring justice to those who wronged us."

He bent down and gently closed his mother's eyes, his fingers trembling as he did so. Ling Yan stood there for a long moment, allowing the weight of her death to settle in his heart. It was a burden he would carry for the rest of his life—a reminder of the path he had chosen, a path paved with fire and vengeance.

When he finally turned to leave the cottage, Ling Yan took one last look at the village where he had grown up. The memories of his childhood, once filled with laughter and love, now felt distant and out of reach. This village had been his home, but it had also been the place where he had lost everything. There was nothing left for him here.

With the Burning Sky Technique in hand, Ling Yan set off into the wilderness, his heart filled with a burning resolve. He had survived the flames, but this was only the beginning of his journey. The world outside the village was vast and dangerous, filled with powerful cultivators and ancient secrets waiting to be uncovered. And somewhere out there, the Tian Xie Sect continued to spread its dark influence.

Ling Yan clenched his fists, his determination growing stronger with each step. He would find a way to grow stronger, no matter the cost. The power of the Burning Sky Technique was now his to command, but it came with a heavy price. He would have to master it completely, or risk being consumed by its flames.

As the sun began to rise on the horizon, Ling Yan's figure disappeared into the distance, leaving behind the ashes of his old life. The world awaited him, and with it, the challenges that would shape him into the cultivator he was destined to become.