The golden hue of twilight bathed the Yan family courtyard as Yan Zi returned home. His steps were steady, but his mind was clouded with frustration and determination. Seven days of relentless study in Alchemy had given him a solid grasp of its principles, but his progress was halted by an inescapable truth.
In the small, humble room where his mother often sat weaving, Yan Zi found her tending to a few herbs she had been drying. Seeing her serene face, he hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to share his struggles. But then, he stepped forward, his voice steady but tinged with disappointment.
"Mother, I've learned a lot about Alchemy these past seven days," Yan Zi began, his tone carrying both pride and an undercurrent of frustration. "I've memorized the techniques, studied the combinations, and even managed to sense the qi flow in the cauldron. But…" He paused, clenching his fists. "I cannot refine pills without fire. And not just any fire—a controlled flame drawn from inner cultivation."
His mother stopped what she was doing and looked at him, her eyes soft with understanding. "Ah, my son," she said, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. "You've already accomplished so much in such a short time. Learning without guidance, relying only on your determination—do you know how rare that is? Don't let this obstacle discourage you."
Yan Zi sighed, his frustration evident. "But without cultivation, I'll never be able to produce the flame needed to refine pills. What's the point of learning so much if I can't even take the first step?"
His mother gave him a comforting smile. "Alchemy isn't just about flames or techniques, Yan Zi. It's about perseverance. If anyone can find a way to overcome this, it's you. Remember, the path of a true alchemist isn't an easy one, but it's a path meant for those who refuse to give up."
Her words gave Yan Zi a moment of solace, though the storm in his heart hadn't calmed. "Thank you, Mother," he said softly, bowing his head. "I'll figure something out."
As he left the house, the evening air cooled his heated thoughts. He decided to seek out his father, hoping to hear words of wisdom or even advice.
---
At the Clan's Main Hall
The scene shifted to the grand main hall of the Yan clan, where the elders were concluding a meeting. The air inside was thick with authority and tension. The clan leader, Yan Shengtian, stood at the center, his imposing figure commanding attention as the elders discussed the clan's future.
"Our younger generation is truly exceptional this time," Elder Huang said with a smirk, his voice filled with pride. "Yan Ling and Yan Xingtian are destined to become legends in the Ethereal Sky City. With their talents, it won't be long before our clan reaches new heights."
The other elders nodded in agreement.
"Indeed," Elder Yan Gong added, his tone sharp and condescending. "But not all of the younger generation can bring us pride, can they?" His words carried a pointed edge, and though he didn't mention names, everyone understood his implication.
Yan Hong, standing among them, clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white. He knew where this conversation was heading.
Elder Huang chuckled, feeding off Yan Gong's scorn. "Ah, yes. Not everyone is destined for greatness. Some are born to shine, while others…" He trailed off, his smirk deepening. "Well, others can always find a place elsewhere. Perhaps as servants or errand runners."
Yan Gong laughed mockingly. "It's a pity, really. If only talent could be shared among family. Then even the weakest among us might have a chance to contribute."
Yan Hong's body trembled, his rage barely contained. Though he was an elder, his cultivation level was lower than most of the others present. Speaking out would only bring further humiliation, but the words cut deep, especially as they targeted his son.
Yan Shengtian, the clan leader, observed silently, his expression unreadable. He let the conversation continue, though his occasional glances at Yan Hong carried a faint sense of disapproval.
---
Unbeknownst to the elders, Yan Zi had arrived outside the hall, his steps faltering as he overheard their conversation. His heart sank with each word, their scorn and laughter tearing at his resolve. He pressed himself against a tree, his fists trembling.
"Father... all this because of me?" Yan Zi thought, his gaze falling to the ground. His father's silence only made the sting worse. He could feel his father's helplessness, his inability to defend his son.
Anger and sorrow swirled within Yan Zi like a tempest. Unable to contain himself, he punched the tree beside him with all his strength. The bark splintered slightly under the force, and his knuckles reddened, but the pain didn't matter.
He leaned his forehead against the tree, his breath uneven. "Why?" he whispered to himself. "Why was I born like this? Why can't I do anything to make them proud?"
The humiliation of hearing his father belittled and his own worth dismissed weighed heavily on him. But more than the anger directed at the elders, Yan Zi was furious with himself.
With a heavy heart and a frustrated mind, Yan Zi turned away from the main hall. He didn't want to see his father's pained expression or hear another word of ridicule. As he walked back, the evening shadows seemed to grow darker, mirroring the turmoil within him.
"One day," he thought, clenching his fists, "I'll prove them all wrong. I'll find a way to rise above this."
The resolve in his heart burned brighter than ever, even as sadness lingered in his steps.
Yan Zi stood frozen in place after overhearing the conversation. The harsh words of the elders echoed in his ears like a relentless drumbeat, each one driving a stake deeper into his already burdened heart. His father's silence, his clenched fists trembling with suppressed anger, was what hurt the most. It wasn't just the humiliation he felt—it was seeing his father, a proud man, being forced to swallow his pride for his sake.
As the elders dispersed and his father walked away with his head slightly lowered, Yan Zi bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood. His fingers curled into fists, the nails digging deep into his palms until the sharp pain jolted him from his daze. Yet he didn't care.
"Tsk... useless. That's what they think of me," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible but laced with venom. He clenched his fists harder, the sharp sting of his nails breaking through skin. Warm blood trickled between his fingers, but he didn't let go. If anything, the pain felt right—like a punishment he deserved.
He lowered his gaze, his bright blue eyes now dulled by frustration and despair, and turned to walk away. His footsteps were heavy, dragging slightly as though he carried the weight of the entire clan's expectations on his shoulders. "I'm nothing more than a burden... even to Father," he thought bitterly.
As he wandered aimlessly through the clan's vast grounds, the usual lively bustle of disciples training or elders exchanging wisdom faded into a distant blur. All Yan Zi could hear was the relentless hammering of his own thoughts. The humiliation, the weight of being labeled "talentless," and the burden of his father's unspoken disappointment—it all swirled inside him like a storm.
He passed by groups of younger disciples sparring, their laughter and shouts grating on his ears. He averted his gaze, not wanting to see the future his father hoped for but that he could never give. "Tch... even they're better than me," he muttered, shaking his head.
Eventually, his feet led him to a secluded grove on the outskirts of the clan grounds. A single large rock sat beneath an ancient tree, its gnarled roots sprawling out like veins of the earth. Yan Zi sighed heavily and lowered himself onto the rock, his shoulders slumping. He stared at his bloodied hands, the cuts and scrapes glowing faintly under the moonlight.
"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered to no one in particular. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the turmoil within him. His piercing blue eyes, usually filled with determination, now brimmed with unshed tears. He hated this feeling—this helplessness that clung to him like a shackle.
Yan Zi let his head fall back against the tree's trunk, closing his eyes. The cool night breeze brushed against his face, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers. Yet even nature's calm could not soothe the storm raging within him. His mind replayed the scene he had just witnessed: the condescending voices of the elders, his father's clenched fists, and the faint tremble in his father's voice as he tried to defend him.
"Father... even you can't protect me from this," he thought bitterly. He exhaled sharply, a sound that was almost a growl of frustration. "Am I really that useless?"
A sudden gust of wind ruffled his dark hair, carrying with it the faint rustling of leaves. Yan Zi opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the sky through the canopy of branches. The moon hung high, its silver light spilling over the grove like a silent witness to his anguish.
"No... no, I can't just sit here," he muttered, his voice firmer this time. He straightened slightly, his fists clenching once more—this time not out of frustration, but resolve. Yet even as he steeled himself, a pang of doubt lingered in his chest. What could he do? A person without cultivation, without talent, in a world that valued strength above all else?
Yan Zi let out another sigh, this one softer, almost resigned. He rubbed his bloodied palms against his trousers, ignoring the sting. His mind was a mess of thoughts—regret, anger, sorrow, and the faintest glimmer of determination.
He stood up slowly, the weight in his chest still heavy but somehow easier to bear now. "I'll figure it out," he whispered to himself. His gaze hardened, his piercing blue eyes glinting faintly under the moonlight. Even if the world saw him as a failure, he refused to let his father carry that burden alone.
For now, though, he walked back towards the clan grounds, his steps slow and deliberate. The storm within him had not passed, but a small flicker of light remained—a spark of resolve to fight against the weight of his fate, no matter how impossible it seemed.