The rain poured in steady sheets, drenching the dirt-packed square of the village.
The once-bustling marketplace was silent now, save for the patter of raindrops and the occasional crack of thunder from the dark sky above.
Feng knelt in the mud, his thin frame trembling as cold water soaked through his tattered clothes.
His breaths came in ragged gasps, but the ache in his chest wasn't from the physical blows he had taken earlier—it was the weight of humiliation.
A crowd had gathered around him, a mix of pity, disdain, and cruel amusement on their faces.
At the front stood Elder Zhou, the head of the Raincloud village, his home for all 15 years of his life and a man whose every word carried the weight of law.
His gray robes fluttered in the wind as he leaned heavily on his cane, his expression twisted in disappointment.
"You've brought shame upon our village, Feng," the elder said, his voice cutting through the rain like a blade.
"A boy of fifteen who cannot form a Heaven's Pact is no cultivator. Worse than that, you're a disgrace. A Broken Soul is a curse upon the heavens themselves."
Feng's knuckles clenched in the mud, his nails digging into the soft earth. He bit his tongue to keep from speaking.
What could he say? That he hadn't chosen to be born with a broken soul? That he had spent years trying to defy his fate, only to fail every time?
No one cared. In a world where strength was everything, excuses didn't matter.
"Elder Zhou" one of the villagers named Jun sneered, his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear "Cant we just get rid of him already? We all know Broken Souls bring bad luck.
It's bad enough that he's been leeching off us for years, he's clearly just dead weight."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Feng raised his head, his dark eyes glaring at the man who had spoken, but the villager only smirked. The crowd's muttering grew louder.
Feng remembered who he was, when they were younger, they used to play around in the village with the other kids, but now..
"Enough," Elder Zhou said, raising a hand to silence them. His cold eyes bore down on Feng.
"Feng, you've been given more chances than you deserve. The village has fed you, sheltered you, and tolerated your presence, but this is the end.
You are hereby banished. Leave tonight and never return."
The words struck Feng like a hammer. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
He wasn't surprised—he had felt this coming for years—but hearing it spoken aloud made it real.
He looked up at the elder, hoping for some sign of mercy, but there was none.
"Do you have anything to say, boy?" Elder Zhou asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
Feng forced himself to his feet, his legs shaking beneath him. Mud dripped from his hands as he clenched his fists by his sides.
"I didn't ask to be born this way, if the heavens are supposed to be just, why did he make it so that I'm forced to be weak for the rest of my life?" he said, his voice low but steady.
"I didn't ask for a Broken Soul."
Elder Zhou's eyes narrowed and he shouted. "Blasphemy, you dare question the heavenly dao? If you said that in one of the larger villages you would have been executed on the spot!
You're lucky I still have some semblance of pity for you, leave! For people like you, the heavens shall determine whether you live or die"
The crowd began to disperse, their interest waning now that the verdict had been delivered.
A few villagers lingered, their eyes filled with scorn or pity, but none spoke to Feng. They didn't need to. Their silence was enough.
Feng stood alone in the rain, staring at the spot where Elder Zhou had stood moments ago.
The weight of their words pressed down on him, heavier than the stormclouds above.
Slowly, he turned and began walking toward the outskirts of the village.
The forest loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. Feng stopped at the edge of the trees and glanced back at the village one last time.
The faint glow of lanterns in the houses made the place look warm and inviting—a sharp contrast to the cold emptiness he felt inside.
He had grown up in those streets, dreamed of becoming a cultivator like the other boys, and spent years trying to prove himself.
None of it had mattered in the end.
The heavens had abandoned him.
The thought made his hands tremble. All his life, he had been told that the Heavens were just and fair, that they blessed those who worked hard and followed the Dao.
But what had they ever done for him? He had prayed, trained, meditated—everything a cultivator was supposed to do.
And yet, when his Awakening Ceremony came at the age of ten, the Heavens had given him nothing.
No Heaven's Pact. No connection to the Dao. Just silence.
Feng's jaw tightened. If the Heavens didn't care about him, then why should he care about them?
He turned away from the village and stepped into the forest.
The Blackwood Forest was alive with the sound of rain dripping from the canopy above.
The ground was slick with mud, and the air was thick with the earthy scent of wet leaves.
Feng trudged forward, his body aching with every step.
He didn't know where he was going, only that he couldn't stop.
Staying still meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering the looks on their faces—the disgust, the pity, the relief that he was finally gone.
Hours passed, though it felt like days.
The rain began to let up, but the cold lingered, biting into his skin.
Feng's legs wobbled beneath him, threatening to give out.
He stumbled and caught himself against a tree, gasping for breath.
"I can't…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I can't keep going."
But he had no choice. The villagers didn't want him, and the forest didn't care if he lived or died.
If he stopped now, he would starve, or worse, become prey for one of the spirit beasts that roamed the Blackwood.
A faint glow in the distance caught his eye, pulling him from his despair.
Feng squinted through the trees, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him.
The glow was soft and pulsing, like the light of a distant firefly.
It didn't feel like the flicker of a lantern or the aura of a spirit beast. It was… different.