Chapter 2: The Unyielding Flame
The sun rose sluggishly over Clearwater Hollow, casting its pale light over the village's thatched roofs and cracked dirt paths. The morning dew clung stubbornly to the crops in the fields, a brief reprieve from the drought that had plagued the region for months. Yet for Li Baifeng, this tranquil scene did little to ease the weight pressing on his chest.
His mind buzzed with the revelations of the Primordial Ascension Scripture, the ancient text he had unearthed in the forgotten cavern. It spoke of Qi, the life force that permeated all things—the breath of the universe, the energy that animated the world and every being within it.
The scripture described Qi as both a gift and a burden. It was the essence that connected mortals to the heavens, yet few understood its true potential. For most, Qi remained dormant, a trickle of vitality used to sustain life. But for those who cultivated it, Qi could become a roaring river, a source of immense power capable of bending the laws of nature.
Baifeng's thoughts kept returning to one particular line from the scripture:
"He who masters Qi masters the heavens, but he who serves Qi serves the earth."
He didn't yet understand its full meaning, but it stirred something deep within him—a yearning to rise above the chains of mortality, to protect those he loved, to ensure that Xiaomei and the people of Clearwater Hollow would no longer live in fear.
---
Baifeng's hut was small but warm, its walls adorned with Xiaomei's childish drawings and bundles of dried herbs Auntie Zhou had given them. Inside, Xiaomei sat cross-legged on the floor, humming as she prepared the morning meal. Her hands, though small, worked with practiced efficiency, slicing vegetables with a knife that had been sharpened to a sliver.
"Brother Baifeng," she said, glancing up from her work. "You've been quiet this morning. What's on your mind?"
Baifeng hesitated, the weight of the scripture's knowledge pressing on him. "Just thinking about things," he muttered, trying to dismiss the concern building within him. "About how things could change if I were stronger."
Xiaomei smiled innocently, the joy in her eyes cutting through his inner turmoil. "You will be strong. You always protect us. That's what matters."
Baifeng felt a pang in his chest. He forced a smile. "I'll do my best. For you."
---
Later that morning, Baifeng ventured into the village square. Despite the early hour, the square was already bustling with activity. Farmers hauled sacks of grain, potters displayed their wares, and children darted between stalls, their laughter a rare reprieve from the harsh realities of their lives.
"Baifeng!" a familiar voice called.
Turning, he saw Auntie Zhou waving him over. She was a stout woman with weathered hands and kind eyes, a maternal figure to many in the village. Beside her stood Old Liu, the village elder, leaning heavily on his cane.
"You look troubled," Auntie Zhou said as Baifeng approached. "What's on your mind?"
Before he could answer, Old Liu let out a low sigh. "The boy has the weight of the world on his shoulders, same as the rest of us. The Zhao family's collectors will be here soon."
Baifeng's jaw tightened. The Zhao family, the landlords who controlled Clearwater Hollow, had bled the village dry for years. Their demands grew more outrageous with each passing season, leaving the villagers with barely enough to survive.
"Do you think they'll demand double again?" Baifeng asked.
"They always do," Auntie Zhou replied bitterly. "And if we can't pay, they'll take what little we have left."
---
By noon, the dreaded tax collectors arrived. Six men on horseback, their armor mismatched but well-worn, rode into the square with an air of casual cruelty. At their head was a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, his eyes cold and calculating.
"Listen up, peasants!" the leader barked, his voice cutting through the uneasy murmurs of the crowd. "The Zhao family demands double taxes this season. Pay now, or we'll take it by force."
The villagers exchanged panicked glances, their fear palpable.
"Please," Old Liu stepped forward, his frail frame trembling. "We've already given everything we can. If you take more, we won't survive the winter."
The leader sneered. "Not my problem, old man. Refuse, and we'll take your homes, your livestock—everything."
Auntie Zhou's face darkened with anger. "You have no shame! How can you do this to your own people?"
The leader's smirk widened as he dismounted his horse. "Another loudmouth. Perhaps you need a lesson in obedience." He unsheathed his sword, advancing on her.
Baifeng's heart pounded. Without thinking, he stepped forward, placing himself between Auntie Zhou and the tax collector.
"That's enough," he said, his voice steady despite the fear twisting in his gut.
The leader paused, sizing him up. "And who are you, boy? Another farmer with a death wish?"
Baifeng didn't answer. His fists clenched at his sides. The faint stirrings of Qi he had felt before refused to respond. His body was nothing but flesh and bone now—no miraculous power, just a young man's resolve.
The leader laughed, the sound cold and mocking. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't save you." He motioned to his men. "Teach him a lesson."
---
The first punch landed with brutal force, catching Baifeng square in the ribs. The air was knocked from his lungs, and a jarring pain shot through his chest. He stumbled back, his feet slipping on the dirt. But before he could even steady himself, a second blow struck his stomach, forcing him to double over in agony. His vision swam, and he struggled to stay upright.
The leader's men closed in, fists and boots raining down on him. Each hit felt like it was cracking something deep within him. The pain was unbearable, his body battered from every angle. His ribs were on fire, his knees were buckling, but he refused to collapse.
He could hear the cruel laughter of the tax collectors as they battered him, each blow a reminder of his own weakness, of how powerless he was in this world. The Qi he had tried to cultivate—this mysterious energy that was supposed to give him strength—was nowhere to be found. It refused to respond, leaving him utterly helpless.
Baifeng's head was spinning. He could barely catch his breath, the world around him becoming a blur of pain. He wanted to fight back, wanted to push through the agony, but his body refused to obey. His limbs were heavy, his vision darkened with each strike. The sounds of his own labored breathing filled his ears, drowned out by the mocking jeers of the tax collectors.
"Pathetic," one of the men spat, kicking him in the side. Baifeng's body crashed against the ground, and he gasped for air, each breath a painful struggle.
Blood dripped from a gash on