Chapter 2: The Weak Shall Endure
The villagers were used to seeing Ren Liang limp back home, his steps sluggish, his face pale and damp with sweat. He was a familiar sight on the dirt roads of Jinxi—a boy so frail and weak that most hardly spared him a second glance. But this time, as Ren stumbled into the village, blood soaking through his torn tunic and his hands trembling, even the most indifferent onlookers paused to stare.
"Boy, what happened to you?" barked Old Wu, the village's blacksmith, his deep voice echoing over the rhythmic clanging of his forge. He stepped toward Ren, wiping soot from his hands.
Ren avoided his gaze, clutching his shoulder as he passed by. "Nothing. I tripped in the woods," he muttered, his voice barely audible. He couldn't let them know about the Spirit Wolf, much less the shattered shrine. Jinxi was small and isolated, but news of anything remotely strange spread like wildfire, and strange things attracted attention. Cultivators would come, searching for treasures or secrets, and Ren had no intention of being caught in their wake.
"Careless, as usual," Old Wu muttered, shaking his head. He returned to his forge, his interest in Ren already fading. The other villagers followed suit, their curiosity no match for their disdain for the boy they saw as a useless burden.
Ren kept his head down as he approached his uncle's hut, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time he reached the door, his legs were shaking, and the faint pulse of the shard within him had dulled to a quiet hum. The fight with the wolf had drained him completely, and his wound throbbed with every movement.
The door creaked open, and his uncle's scowling face greeted him. "Took you long enough," the man snapped, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in Ren's disheveled state. "Where's the water?"
Ren froze, realizing he'd left the buckets by the river. "I... I didn't—"
"Useless!" his uncle spat, cutting him off. He grabbed Ren by the collar, dragging him inside. "Can't even fetch water without making a mess of yourself. Look at you, bleeding all over the floor. What kind of man can't handle a simple chore?"
Ren bit his lip, swallowing the retort that bubbled in his throat. Arguing would only make things worse. His uncle shoved him onto the floor and turned away, muttering under his breath about lazy boys and wasted food.
"You're not eating tonight. Figure it out yourself," his uncle called over his shoulder before disappearing into the back room.
Ren sat there for a moment, his chest heaving with quiet frustration. His hand drifted to his shoulder, feeling the sticky warmth of blood through the torn fabric. He needed to treat the wound, but the hut's meager supply of herbs wouldn't be enough. His uncle would never spare the good tinctures for him.
Standing slowly, Ren slipped back out into the night. The village was quiet now, the streets lit only by the faint glow of lanterns hanging from wooden posts. He made his way toward the small storage shed at the edge of the village, his movements cautious.
The shed was locked, but Ren had spent enough time sneaking around Jinxi to know where the spare key was hidden. He retrieved it from under a loose plank, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. The air smelled of dried grass and mildew, the faint moonlight filtering through the cracks in the walls just enough for him to see.
Ren's eyes scanned the shelves until he found a small clay jar marked with a crude symbol—a tincture for disinfecting wounds. He grabbed it, his fingers brushing against a bundle of bandages beside it. As he turned to leave, a soft rustling sound froze him in place.
"Stealing from the village, are we?" a voice sneered from the shadows.
Ren's heart sank. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Bai Shun, the miller's son, stepped into the moonlight, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the shed's floor. Behind him were two of his usual lackeys, their grins sharp and eager for trouble.
"Didn't think you had it in you, cripple," Bai Shun continued, his tone mocking. "What are you going to do with that? Patch up your pathetic excuse for a body so you can stumble around like an old man for another day?"
Ren clutched the jar tightly, his knuckles whitening. "I'll return it when I'm done," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the knot tightening in his stomach.
Bai Shun laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Return it? You're lucky we let you breathe our air for free. Maybe we should charge you for that too."
The lackeys chuckled, moving to block the door as Bai Shun advanced. Ren's grip on the jar tightened, his pulse pounding in his ears. He could feel the faint hum of the shard within him, like a distant echo of power, but it was muted, dormant. He didn't know how to summon it, and even if he did, he wasn't sure it would be enough.
"You want it back?" Ren said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "Take it."
He threw the jar at Bai Shun's face, the clay shattering on impact and splattering tincture across the older boy's shirt. Bai Shun stumbled back with a yelp, the sharp smell of the tincture stinging his nose. The lackeys lunged forward, but Ren ducked under their grasp and bolted out the door.
Pain lanced through his shoulder as he ran, but he didn't stop. The village blurred around him, the houses and lanterns blending into streaks of light and shadow. He didn't know where he was going—he just needed to get away.
When he finally stopped, his chest burning and his legs shaking, he realized he had run to the outskirts of the village, where the forest loomed like a wall of darkness. He leaned against a tree, gasping for breath, his hand clutching his wounded shoulder. The bandages he had grabbed were still clutched in his other hand, the only thing he'd managed to keep.
The forest was silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Ren sank to the ground, his back against the tree, and began wrapping his shoulder with shaky hands. The pain dulled as the bandages tightened, but the ache in his chest remained—a deep, hollow feeling that had nothing to do with his injuries.
He had always been weak, always been mocked, but tonight felt different. The shard within him pulsed faintly, as if responding to his anger, his frustration, his desperation. It was a reminder that something had changed, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.
Ren's fingers brushed against the dirt, his mind racing. He couldn't stay in Jinxi forever. The village had nothing for him—no future, no hope. But the shard... it was a spark, a possibility. If he could understand it, if he could master it, maybe—just maybe—he could carve out a place for himself in the world.
For now, though, survival came first. The forest stretched out before him, dark and endless, and somewhere in its depths lay the answers he needed. Ren stood, his legs unsteady but his resolve firm. His frail body might hold him back, but his will burned brighter than it ever had.
He would endure. And one day, he would rise.