The wind howled across the craggy landscape; its voice lost among the towering peaks of Mount Sanghua. The cold stung against Yan Lou's skin as he stood at the precipice of the sect's training grounds, gazing out over the vast expanse of the world below. The sprawling lands of the Crimson Lotus Sect stretched out before him—rolling hills, ancient forests, and distant rivers, all untouched by the ravages of time. Yet to him, everything felt broken.
The world is a mirror, shattered into countless fragments, he thought, his gaze distant. Each shard reflects a piece of reality, yet none of them show the whole picture.
From the moment he was born, the world had been fractured. His parents, the last remnants of the Lou Clan, were slaughtered in a battle whose reasons had long since been forgotten. His clan's ruin was a testament to a world where power ruled, where might made right, and those who couldn't grasp the sword were destined to fall. Yet, despite his loss, Yan Lou had not sought vengeance. Vengeance was a hollow pursuit. The world had no care for the vengeance of the weak. It was not justice he sought, but something deeper, something beyond the reach of his age.
The world, as he saw it, was a land in constant flux. The martial world, a microcosm of the greater chaos, was built on cultivation—on the mastery of Qi, the spiritual energy that flowed through every living thing. Yet it was a world where power meant everything. Power to protect, power to destroy, and power to ascend beyond the limitations of the flesh. Yan Lou had come to understand that early on. Power, after all, was the only currency the world understood.
Yet, power alone was not enough. What was the point of strength if the world remained in pieces, shattered and unsalvageable? What was the purpose of reaching the peak if one stood alone at the top, surrounded by the broken remnants of those who had fallen along the way?
His thoughts drifted to the teachings of the elders—those who spoke of the Eight Stages of cultivation, each stage marking the progress of a martial artist's path. Stage 1: Foundations; Stage 2: Minor Qi Mastery; Stage 3: Lesser Foundation; Stage 4: Greater Foundation; Stage 5: True Foundation; Stage 6: King's Foundation; Stage 7: Sovereign's Awakening; Stage 8: Ascendant. Each stage, divided into Beginner, Stable, and Peak levels, was a testament to one's advancement in the martial world. But in the end, what was the point of reaching the top?
The eighth stage, Yan Lou mused, clenching his fist. They say the power of the eighth stage is almost beyond human comprehension. It is the point where martial artists begin to touch the edge of the heavens themselves. But why stop there?
Was there more beyond that? Were there those who had surpassed even the eighth stage, those who had broken the limits of the world itself?
No. There was no such thing. The world was broken. People were broken. No one could truly fix it.
Or could they?
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of a figure. The crowd of disciples began to hush as Han Mu, the third-ranked inner disciple, walked into the arena. Han Mu was a towering figure, his broad shoulders and muscular frame the result of countless years of brutal training. His aura pulsed with the intensity of someone who had been through the crucible of battle. He stood with a confidence that only someone of his cultivation could possess. But Yan Lou didn't flinch. He never did.
The fight would begin soon. And Han Mu, with his power and his pride, would learn that it wasn't strength alone that determined a warrior's worth.
Yan Lou glanced at him, his expression calm. At Stage 4: Greater Foundation, Han Mu was a powerhouse among inner disciples. But even with his cultivation, he was still only at the beginning of his journey, the peak of his stage still far out of reach.
And Yan Lou? At Stage 3: Lesser Foundation, he was younger, more agile, and faster. His strength wasn't in raw power—no, that was never his strength. It was in control, in precision, and in his understanding of the flow of Qi. But more importantly, it was in his mind. The mind of a cultivator was often the greatest weapon they possessed.
"Ready yourself, Yan Lou," Han Mu called, his voice carrying across the arena. "Don't disappoint me."
Yan Lou didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a deep breath, feeling the Qi flowing through his body. The energy inside him was a river, constantly shifting, flowing, and ever-present. He had trained for years to control it, to bend it to his will. But today would be different. Today, he would use not just his Qi—but his mind.
He gripped his wooden sword firmly in his hand, feeling its weight, the familiarity of it. It was a tool, an extension of himself. Not a weapon for brute force, but an instrument for the art of combat. The wooden blade might have lacked the weight of a real sword, but it was a representation of the fight within.
"Begin!" Elder Bai's voice rang out, his words carrying the weight of experience. As a Stage 5: True Foundation cultivator, his presence alone was enough to silence the crowd. He had seen countless battles; countless disciples rise and fall. To him, Yan Lou's fight with Han Mu was nothing more than a passing moment. But Yan Lou didn't see it that way. This was his moment.
Han Mu lunged forward with a powerful strike, his sword arcing downward with the force of a boulder crashing onto the earth. The ground beneath them trembled as he swung, his Qi flooding the blade, amplifying its destructive power.
Yan Lou didn't move. He simply watched, calculating, his eyes narrowing. At the last possible moment, he stepped aside, allowing Han Mu's sword to pass harmlessly by him. The attack was strong, but it was too predictable. Han Mu relied too much on brute force. He thought that power alone would win the day.
But Yan Lou knew better. Power, when wielded without understanding, was a double-edged sword.
The fight stretched on, with Yan Lou dancing around Han Mu's attacks. Each strike was blocked or evaded with precise timing, his body moving like water flowing around rocks. Han Mu's frustration grew with every failed attack. His power was undeniable, but it lacked the finesse required to break through Yan Lou's defenses.
Then, in a sudden burst of rage, Han Mu unleashed a flurry of strikes, faster than before, his sword a blur of motion. Yan Lou's eyes flashed. This is what I was waiting for.
His wooden sword rose in a quick arc, deflecting Han Mu's strike with ease, and then, in a single motion, Yan Lou spun, bringing his blade across Han Mu's chest. The wooden sword stopped inches from his skin.
Han Mu staggered back, breathing heavily, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. His eyes met Yan Lou's, and for the first time, he saw something he hadn't expected: not just skill, but a kind of cold determination.
Yan Lou lowered his sword, his expression impassive. He didn't speak, but his thoughts echoed in his mind, louder than ever.
Is this the strength I seek? The power to shape the world? To mend its broken pieces? Or am I just another shard, another part of the broken mirror?
Elder Bai's voice cut through the silence. "The match is over. Yan Lou wins."
The crowd erupted in applause, but Yan Lou remained silent. His victory had not been one of power, but of control. The world might be broken, but for now, he could hold it together.
One step at a time.