"Wake up, idiot!" Fan Ning shouted, kicking the door open with a bang.
Her brother, Fan Quan, lay sprawled on the bed, barely stirring. He had relatively short black hair, which was in a scrawny state, which drew a strong contrast to his light blue eyes, which almost seemed to sparkle under the early morning light. At sixteen, he already had a reputation as a prodigy, but at the moment, he looked like nothing more than a lazy fool, his eyes fluttering shut again.
Fan Ning scowled, hands on her hips, her long black hair falling messily down her back, covering her simple yet cute dress. "How does the so-called genius of the seven villages oversleep every other day?"
Fan Quan blinked blearily at her, the fading remnants of a dream still clouding his mind.
He raised his upper body to form himself into a sitting position, his body aching with pain. "Cut me some slack, will you?"
"Just 'cause you got attacked by some doggie doesn't mean you can lay in bed all the time. Come eat." The so-called "doggie" Fan Ning was describing was a wolf that had attacked the carriage Fan Quan was travelling in, when he went to the Local City, where he took the State Exam to become a State official. Luckily, there were no deaths due to the attack, but Fan Quan missed the opportunity to take the exam and has to take the next one in 2 years.
"Yeah Yeah, I'll be there soon. Now Get out of my room." After she left, he slowly stood up and moved to put on his clothes. He then walked to the bathroom and washed his face, starting to wake up fully, and decided to go eat. Downstairs, Fan Baozhai, his Mother and Fan Ning, his sister, were sitting at the table and had already begun eating. After exchanging greetings, he also began eating and they held a simple conversation.
When they finished eating, his mother commented: "I'm proud of you, Quan'er. Today you will finally finish your studies at the seven-river academy. Now, go out and don't be late."
Fan Quan got ready, walked outside the humble but nice-looking house, and jumped into the carriage outside the fence waiting for him. On the way to the Academy, they followed along a river and quickly passed by a small village known as the One-leaf Village. This was considered the lowest of the seven villages around, it was the smallest and tended to produce the least of the seven villages around here. The aforementioned are categorised from one to seven leaves based on their yield of crops and achievements around the local area. Each of these villages layed at a river, and they all intersect at a vast lake, which is where the seven-river academy was located.
As the carriage rumbled along the narrow, dusty path, Fan Quan watched the morning sun cresting over the distant peaks, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The smell of dew on grass mixed with the faint scent of the river as they neared the Academy. The sight of One-Leaf Village fading into the distance made him ponder, as he often did, the lives of the people in each village. Some regarded the villages as mere stepping stones to greatness, while others clung to their roots. Fan Quan, however, felt himself somewhere in between. His path was yet uncarved, despite the high expectations others placed on him
As they approached the massive lake at the heart of the valley, the silhouette of the Seven River Academy loomed ahead. The academy's buildings sprawled across the shore in orderly rows, their dark stone walls and intricate rooftops reflecting the sunlight in a way that was both imposing and inviting. Flags from each of the seven villages fluttered at the entrance, symbolizing the unity and rivalry that thrived within these walls. He had seen this view countless times, yet today it felt different. There was a weight in the air, a tangible sense that something significant awaited him.
The carriage came to a halt just beyond the Academy gates. Fan Quan disembarked, nodding briefly thanks to the driver, who tipped his hat and headed back down the trail. As he walked toward the gate, he saw other students gathering, some already dressed in their Academy robes, colours denoting their rank and specialities. The buzz of voices and laughter filled the air as groups of students shared news of their summer exploits and plans for the new term. A few noticed him and whispered—some admiring, others with a hint of envy or scepticism. He was, after all, the "prodigy" whose reputation preceded him.
The grand entrance was guarded by two stone pillars carved with the intricate symbols of the seven rivers, each representing a virtue—wisdom, strength, resilience, honour, discipline, innovation, and unity. As he passed between them, he felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with a pang of apprehension. This year marked his final round of studies at the Academy when students were expected to solidify their path in life.
"Fan Quan! I thought you'd given up after that wolf attack," a familiar voice called out.
Fan Quan turned to see Jun Yao, his friend and occasional rival, grinning broadly. Jun Yao was taller, his brown hair tied back neatly, and his Academy robes fitted snugly. A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, a look Fan Quan had seen many times before, often right before some foolish scheme.
"Only you would bring that up," Fan Quan replied with a smirk. "But here I am, despite everything."
Jun Yao clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, they say only the stubborn survive. Come on, we're supposed to report to the Grand Hall for orientation. The last thing we need is Professor Shi's lecture on 'punctuality as the first mark of greatness.'"
The two made their way through the courtyard, where flower beds and manicured paths lined with trees led toward the main building. As they entered the towering doors of the Grand Hall, the atmosphere grew solemn. Here, the ceiling stretched high above, painted with scenes of legendary battles and moments of unity between the villages. Rows of seats filled with students, each murmuring in excitement for the year ahead.
Fan Quan sat beside Jun Yao, his gaze fixed to the front, where the Academy's instructors sat in stately rows. In the centre was the Headmaster, an elderly figure with piercing eyes that seemed to scan each student with an uncanny perception. Today would be no ordinary welcome; today would set the stage for the trials and triumphs that awaited each of them.
He settled into his seat, a sense of readiness steeling within him. Whatever lays ahead, he was prepared to meet it, to carve his path through the current of expectations and ambitions that surged around him.
The air inside the Academy grounds shifted, a strange and quiet stillness settling over the students as they returned from the Grand Hall. Fan Quan felt it too—something almost unspoken, like the weight of a legend stirring from ancient scrolls into reality. He exchanged a glance with Jun Yao, who only shrugged, looking as unsettled as he felt.
They hadn't gone far when a murmur rose among the students. Fan Quan followed their gazes, spotting several unfamiliar figures gliding down the Academy's main pathway. They seemed untouched by the dust or even the gravity that bound the rest of them; their long robes swept behind them, colors blending like ink in water.
The air around them was different, charged in a way Fan Quan had never felt. It was more than presence—it was power. Ancient, disciplined, and real. Not the sort of energy he'd encountered in any book or training. Legends of wanderers who traveled the lands came to mind, masters of unknown arts who rarely interacted with ordinary people. But that was all supposed to be just stories.
One of the figures turned slightly, his gaze sweeping over the students. His eyes, sharp and gleaming like tempered steel, met Fan Quan's, sending a strange shock through him. It was as if he were being measured, evaluated on a level deeper than anything he could comprehend.
"They must be officials," Jun Yao whispered. "Look at how the professors are bowing."
Fan Quan could see the professors—people he'd thought were the ultimate authority at the Academy—nodding and bowing with rigid formality. But this didn't feel like respect for government authority. It was something beyond even that.
The tall figure in front, with silver-threaded hair and a regal air, finally spoke. His voice was low but carried an unmistakable gravity. "You who study here, you are all bound by the limits of your understanding. Seek more than what you are taught, and perhaps you will break free of them."
Fan Quan felt his chest tighten, the words resonating in him with an urgency he didn't fully understand. There was something within him—some instinct—that reacted to those words. And from the scattered looks on the faces around him, he could tell he wasn't alone. Jun Yao's usual smirk had disappeared, replaced with something like awe.
Without another word, the figures continued past, but Fan Quan couldn't help but watch as they disappeared further down the path, toward the lake beyond the Academy's walls.
After what felt like an age, the Headmaster turned to the students, his voice calm but firm. "Return to your studies," he commanded, although his gaze remained distant, lingering in the direction the strangers had taken.
Fan Quan stood rooted to the spot, his eyes tracing the path the figures had taken even as they faded from sight. A strange mixture of wonder and unease churned within him. His sister, Fan Ning, came up beside him, frowning as she squinted after the retreating figures.
"Did you feel that?" Fan Quan asked quietly, almost to himself.
Fan Ning looked at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "Feel what? Those people are just officials, right? Probably some scholars from the Capital checking in on us," she said, though her voice held a note of doubt.
But Fan Quan shook his head, a chill running down his spine. "No… they're different. I don't know how to explain it." There was something in his mind—something like the faintest echo of power, or purpose, lingering from their brief presence. He felt like he'd glimpsed a crack in the world, revealing something vast beyond it, and now he couldn't look away.
Jun Yao, who had been hovering nearby, finally spoke up, his usual teasing grin nowhere to be seen. "I heard someone say they came from the Seven Peaks. They aren't government officials, that's for sure."
Fan Quan turned sharply. The Seven Peaks. The name alone stirred up memories of childhood tales—the distant mountain range where, according to legend, sages lived, people who wielded powers far beyond what was natural. He'd never put much stock in those stories, thinking they were just village tales told to children, tales of wanderers who could reshape reality itself. Yet seeing those figures had brought a strange sense of possibility crashing into his mind.
A stirring murmur rose among the students, the whispers growing louder and more excited. The word "Immortals" rippled through the crowd, passed like a secret, leaving a current of awe in its wake. One of the younger students stared, wide-eyed, and tugged at Fan Quan's sleeve. "You think they're really Immortals, like in the stories?"
Fan Quan hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the path. "I don't know. But I do know we've never seen anyone like them before."
Fan Ning scoffed, crossing her arms. "What does it matter? They're just here to talk to the Headmaster, probably to look down on us like everyone else from the Seven Peaks." Yet even she kept casting curious glances after the figures, her earlier dismissive tone barely hiding her curiosity.
The whispers grew, speculations swirling, each story more fantastic than the last. Fan Quan stayed silent, listening, piecing together fragments of rumors. One claimed they'd seen the tallest of the three create a silver calligraphy symbol in midair without ink or paper, that the symbol had floated for a moment, glowing, before fading into the air. Another claimed they'd watched the woman in blue place her hand on a tree and make it blossom instantly. Stories that would have seemed absurd hours ago now seemed almost possible.
Fan Quan's gaze dropped to his hands, the ink stains on his fingers from countless hours of practice. Next to these people—whoever they were—his own efforts felt like child's play, almost meaningless. But something had awakened in him. A determination, a hunger.
As the professors hurried to restore order among the students and shepherd them back to the dormitories, Fan Quan lingered a moment longer, his thoughts still on the strangers. What kind of power did they wield, that could captivate a room of hundreds with just their presence? And more importantly, how could someone like him, bound to the world of ink and paper, hope to reach it?
Time passed slowly afterwards, while others seemed to move on quickly, Fan Quan's mind just couldn't move on. He couldn't just brush of what he had seen as illusions or a weird angle, he felt that what has happened was real.
Fan Quan took his seat in the **calligraphy hall**, surrounded by the scent of fresh ink and soft paper. The low hum of conversation faded as Master Lin entered, his quiet presence commanding respect. Fan Quan watched as the elderly master carefully set down a tray of inkstones, each carved with intricate patterns, as if they held secrets within their grooves.
Calligraphy at the Seven-River Academy was not just a subject. Master Lin treated it as a discipline that demanded complete focus, respect, and attention to the smallest detail. In his lessons, words were not only tools for expression but paths to understanding oneself. Each character was like a mirror, showing the strength or weakness of the hand behind it. The hall was quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic swish of brushes.
Fan Quan dipped his brush into the ink, watching the dark liquid gather at the bristles. There was a strange comfort in this simple act. He'd always loved the flow of the brush, the way each stroke felt like a momentary escape from the noise of daily life. With every character he wrote, his mind seemed to clear just a bit more.
"Today, we will practice a passage from the **Thousand Character Classic**," Master Lin announced, holding up a paper with a passage already written on it in precise, flowing strokes. "This text is about discipline and balance. It has been practiced by generations of scholars, warriors, and monks. Master these strokes, and you will master your own mind."
Fan Quan nodded, steadying his brush over the blank sheet. The first character came into his mind. He imagined its structure, its balance, and the path his brush would take. Then, he moved, his strokes flowing as if in a rhythm, letting the shape form without hesitation. Each line seemed to breathe on its own, and as he wrote, he felt a calm wash over him, a sense that something profound lay beneath these simple characters.
As he continued, though, his mind drifted back to the strange wolf that had attacked his carriage. A part of him wondered why it had seemed different from any other animal he'd seen. Wolves were not common this close to town, and this one had been oddly powerful. He'd felt the weight of it even after it was gone, an unsettling reminder of something beyond his understanding.
Fan Quan shook his head, pushing the thought aside as he continued writing. He knew there was a wide world beyond his own village, filled with forces that could only be guessed at. He'd heard whispers of monks in distant mountains who practiced strange arts or officials in faraway cities who mastered unusual skills. Some merchants even claimed that the world held mysteries, hidden in nature, waiting to be uncovered by those willing to seek them. Perhaps they were just stories, but something about the idea pulled at him.
He refocused, steadying his brush, realizing his line had wavered. The faint smudge on the page annoyed him, a small mark of his distraction. He exhaled, putting his brush down for a moment. These were idle thoughts, and they didn't belong in his work.
Master Lin's voice broke the silence. "Distraction will only weaken your hand, Fan Quan. Every character should hold the same intent, as if each one is a step on a path."
Fan Quan straightened, quickly picking up his brush again. "Yes, Master Lin," he replied, his voice steady, even if his mind wasn't.
"Good," Master Lin continued, moving between desks with a critical eye. "Each character must hold your full focus. A strong mind is steady, unbroken, and unwavering." His gaze swept over Fan Quan's smudged paper but moved on, leaving a lingering sense of disapproval.
Fan Quan's hand relaxed, and he resumed writing, feeling his focus return, his strokes growing more deliberate and fluid. As he worked, the words themselves seemed to hold him, centering him once more. The characters grew into lines of thought, one after another, a rhythm that quieted the outside world.
When he finished, his sheet was filled, each character a part of the whole. The ink dried in neat, dark strokes, leaving Fan Quan with a feeling of satisfaction he couldn't quite explain. His mind was quieter, but there was a sense of something more—an awareness he couldn't yet define. Perhaps it was nothing, just the routine of a daily lesson.
When the lesson concluded, Fan Quan sat for a moment, studying his finished work. The characters stood in neat rows, each line reflecting the time and effort he'd put into mastering the strokes. Yet his eye kept returning to the faint smudge where his hand had faltered. Despite his best efforts, there was a restlessness within him, a lingering curiosity he couldn't fully shake.
He glanced up as Master Lin approached, his hands folded behind his back, eyes sharp and discerning as they scanned Fan Quan's work.
"Your technique has improved," Master Lin said after a moment, nodding slightly. "But your focus wavers, Fan Quan. Calligraphy demands a steady hand, yes, but it also demands a steady mind."
Fan Quan looked down, feeling a tinge of embarrassment. "Yes, Master Lin," he replied, setting his brush down. "It's just… sometimes, while I'm writing, my thoughts wander."
Master Lin raised an eyebrow. "And where do they wander?"
Fan Quan hesitated. "Lately, to… possibilities. I don't know, really. I guess I wonder if there's more to understand beyond this village. If there are things out there that we can't see yet." He paused, trying to find the right words. "Sometimes, the characters feel like they're telling me something I'm not yet able to understand."
Master Lin's expression softened as he listened, nodding slowly. "In calligraphy, every character is a reflection, not just of the writer's skill, but of his inner self. If you feel there is more to discover, then perhaps you are sensing a truth. Yet, wisdom lies not only in seeking answers, but in patience. Let your brush be still, Fan Quan. Master this first, and in time, the world beyond these walls may reveal itself to you."
Fan Quan took in his master's words, feeling the weight of them settle over him. He bowed deeply, realizing he'd been given more than just advice on his calligraphy. When he straightened, he met Master Lin's steady gaze, a renewed determination stirring within him.
"Thank you, Master Lin," he said quietly, feeling the calm return to his mind.