The forest floor, a tapestry of emerald and obsidian, bore witness to Bi Ming's despair. Each ragged breath, a gasp against the suffocating weight of his existence, was a testament to his enduring will.
Abandoned at birth, a ghost in a world where cultivation was the lifeblood of existence, he had always felt like an anomaly.
Born without a spirit root, the very wellspring of power, he was a leaf adrift in a raging torrent, perpetually at the mercy of the currents.
Poverty, a constant gnawing hunger, and the ever-present shadow of those stronger had been his lifelong companions.
Now, a cruel twist of fate – a debilitating disease that eroded his body from within – threatened to extinguish the flickering ember of his will.
Whispers of a miraculous herb, a beacon of hope in the sea of despair, had lured him into the heart of this treacherous forest.
But fate, it seemed, had other designs. The pursuit by a pack of ravenous wolves, a blur of fear and adrenaline, culminated in a sickening plunge into the abyss.
The ground, a cruel mistress, met him with bone-jarring force, shattering his already fragile world.
"Why?" he choked, the word a raw, guttural sound against the backdrop of the encroaching storm.
"Why must I endure this endless suffering?" Rage, a bitter, unfamiliar emotion, surged through him, a tempest against the calm of resignation.
"I will not succumb! I will defy this cruel hand of fate! I will rewrite my destiny!"
The sky, a canvas of vibrant blue moments ago, was now a bruised bruise, a harbinger of the impending storm.
The wind, a mournful dirge, howled through the ancient trees, whipping at his tattered robes. Rain began to lash down, each drop a tiny, icy spear against his skin.
He shivered, not just from the cold, but from the chilling realization that this might be his end.
His vision blurred, the world a chaotic swirl of green and grey. Then, a bolt of lightning, a celestial spear of fire, pierced the heavens, striking him with the force of a thousand hammers. The world imploded.
Agony, a searing, white-hot pain, consumed him. Memories, a kaleidoscope of suffering and despair, flashed before his eyes.
He saw the orphanage, a grim edifice of grey stone, its cold, sterile walls echoing with the cries of abandoned children.
He remembered the sting of hunger, the hollow ache in his stomach that never truly subsided. He remembered the taunts of other children, their laughter sharper than the sharpest blade, their words cutting deeper than any wound.
He saw the face of Mei, the kind woman who had cared for him, her worry lines etched deep, her eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored his own.
She had always treated him with a gentleness he had never known, offering him small comforts, a warm smile, and a listening ear.
He saw the fleeting glimpse of hope, the desperate search for the herb, the treacherous climb through the dense undergrowth, the fear that clawed at his throat.
And then, the terror of the wolf pack, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger, their jaws snapping shut inches from his face.
The chilling descent into darkness, the ground rushing up to meet him, a cold, unforgiving embrace.
Was this the end? A pathetic whimper in the face of the universe's indifference? No. He refused to succumb.
A flicker of defiance, a desperate yearning for life, ignited within him. He wanted to see the world, to experience its wonders, to taste the sweetness of joy, to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin.
He wanted to prove to himself, to the world, that he was more than just a discarded leaf, more than just a victim of cruel fate. He wanted to live, to breathe, to love.
Then, a voice, a whisper from the depths of his soul, resonated within him. "Ding. The fated one found."
Confusion battled with the searing pain. The voice, ancient and profound, sent shivers down his spine.
It was as if the very fabric of reality had shifted, the air crackling with an unseen energy. And then, a strange sensation, a tingling warmth that spread through his veins like a silent tide.
"Transferring the authority to the master... 1%... 10%... 50%... 99%... 100%..."
The voice, a steady metronome, counted down, each percentage point a surge of unknown energy, reshaping his very being. With each increment, the pain intensified, a searing fire that threatened to consume him.
Yet, within the agony, a strange sense of exhilaration began to stir. He felt a power stirring within him, a dormant force awakening from a long slumber.
He felt himself being pulled, stretched, molded, his very essence being refined in the crucible of this unknown force.
The world around him began to distort, colors swirling and merging, the sounds of the storm fading into a distant hum.
He felt the earth beneath him tremble, the very ground resonating with the pulse of this unseen energy.
Then, silence. A profound, all-encompassing silence.
Bi Ming, his mind a swirling vortex of confusion and pain, finally succumbed to the darkness.