Chapter One: Origins

Qi Fei held his breath, lying motionless within the dense thicket, his eyes fixed intently on the massive prey struggling not far ahead.

It was a wild boar, easily weighing several hundred pounds. Its forehoof was now caught fast in a brutal trap, and the beast howled and thrashed violently, desperate to break free from its fetters.

The crude, homemade trap alone was clearly insufficient to subdue such a ferocious creature. If he hesitated any longer, the boar’s cries would surely attract other predators. Qi Fei gripped the sharp bamboo shard in his hand, his wounded palm oozing crimson blood—a pain that only hardened his resolve.

Taking a deep breath, Qi Fei burst forth from the undergrowth. With his left hand, he flung a handful of dirt toward the flailing boar, then, without pause, drove the bamboo spike fiercely at the writhing beast.

In that moment, the boy’s frail body erupted with astonishing strength, the bamboo tip plunging deep into the wild boar’s vicious, glaring eye. Yet, almost simultaneously, the beast’s huge tusks slashed toward Qi Fei’s abdomen.

He let out a fierce shout, and with both hands drove the bamboo clean through the boar’s skull.

The razor-sharp tusks managed only to carve a gash several inches long across his belly before the massive body collapsed at his feet. Qi Fei dared not be careless; gritting his teeth against the searing pain, he snatched up the sharp stone he’d placed by the trap, and brought it down again and again upon the still-twitching head of the boar.

Bloodied hands gripped the stone as he smashed it into the beast’s skull more than a dozen times. Only when the great body ceased all movement did the exhausted boy finally let his arms fall.

Ragged and trembling, Qi Fei gasped for breath, his face ashen. From his pocket he drew out a few herbs, chewing them thoroughly before carefully pressing the pulpy mixture onto his bleeding wound. The thought that he finally had food to last him the next few days brought a bitter smile to his lips.

For many months, Qi Fei had survived in these dense mountain forests. In these turbulent years, the world was aflame, war everywhere, life for the common folk little more than desperate existence. Orphaned and alone in such chaos, Qi Fei wandered the land until he was taken in by the Pill Dawn Sect of Mount Azurecloud, becoming a humble herb-gathering boy.

A few months past, he and several other gathering boys had followed a handful of sect disciples into this remote, uninhabited mountain. But while foraging, they’d stumbled upon a fully-formed demon beast. Savage and powerful, it was far beyond the disciples’ ability to handle. Of the dozen-odd who entered, only Qi Fei had survived by sheer luck.

Hauling his weary, thin frame upright, Qi Fei labored to cut off one of the boar’s hind legs. He shoved the bloody haunch into his battered hide sack, cinched the opening tight, and drew out a few brownish mountain fruits from his breast pocket.

Ignoring their pungent, bitter stench, he crushed the fruits and smeared their pulp across the mouth of the sack to mask the scent of fresh blood.

He glanced at the huge corpse, wetted his cracked lips with his tongue, sighed softly, and without a backward glance hurried toward the small ravine where he sheltered.

In these deep, perilous mountains—haunted by savage beasts, venomous snakes, and even demon creatures—survival depended on suppressing greed. The boar’s cries had been far too loud; the stench of its carcass would soon draw other predators. If he tried to claim the whole beast for himself, he’d likely become prey before reaching safety.

With the sack slung over his shoulder, the small, wiry Qi Fei made his careful way toward his tiny valley refuge. The hidden spots he’d prepared along the route allowed him to avoid a few tigers and a pack of wolves.

By dusk, Qi Fei finally reached the outskirts of his secluded hiding place. Life in these treacherous woods had made him extremely cautious. As he approached the only path into the valley, a flicker of surprise crossed his grimy face.

At the mouth of the valley, dead branches were scattered across the ground, and in the damp earth, faint footprints were visible—clear signs that someone else had entered.

Examining the messy prints more closely, he determined only one person had come through, and that person was likely still inside.

Qi Fei’s mind raced. This little valley was exceptionally well hidden—the perfect place to survive, and a refuge he’d won by great effort, having driven out the wild beasts that once haunted it. He would not yield it lightly.

He drew the sharp bamboo spike from his back, steeling himself for the worst, and prepared to enter. Suddenly, a chill ran through him; he backed away at once.

Though the Pill Dawn Sect had taken him in, he was no true disciple, merely a herb-gatherer with no right to learn the sect’s great arts. That was why he never dared provoke such formidable prey as wild boar. Only today, when the boar had blundered into a small trap meant for lesser animals, had he dared to risk everything. In these dangerous forests, caution had been his only shield.

Standing outside the valley, eyes fixed on the faint, irregular prints, Qi Fei’s heart leapt with fear. If he had stepped into the damp earth himself, the prints would not have been so shallow. Whoever had entered was no ordinary man.

In troubled times, human malice was far deadlier than any beast. Qi Fei thanked his luck; had he rushed in and clashed with this intruder, he might not have survived—perhaps losing his life through a single misstep.

He put away his weapon, torn between advancing and retreating, when suddenly a fierce gale swept out from the valley. In an instant, the wind seized him up and hurled him into the air.

Blackness closed around him as the strange, violent wind carried him straight into the valley.

It felt as if he were riding clouds and mist, utterly at the mercy of the wind. He tried to call out, but the wind vanished as suddenly as it had come, and he crashed down hard into the familiar valley.

A muffled groan escaped his lips as the wound in his belly tore open again. But fear still gripped him; he had no time to care for his injuries.

Dizzy and disoriented, he finally collected himself. Seated before his rough cabin was a Daoist priest, face pale as death.

The uninvited guest wore a gray robe, stained in places with blackened blood. His long white hair and sword-like brows gave him an air of otherworldly dignity, though his features were haggard. His eyes, however, remained piercing and shrewd, hinting at a deep and formidable mind.

Qi Fei, though inexperienced, could tell at a glance that this white-browed Daoist was no ordinary figure. That uncanny, violent wind must have been some profound spell of his.

Qi Fei pressed his lips together, about to speak—only to find he could not utter a sound or move a muscle.

The Daoist waved his hand lightly and asked in a calm voice, “Boy, is this your dwelling?”

A gentle breeze brushed Qi Fei’s face, and suddenly he was free to move again.

The Daoist’s effortless display of arcane power filled Qi Fei with awe. Compared to this man, the disciples of the Pill Dawn Sect seemed utterly lacking.

Suppressing his fear, Qi Fei steadied himself and replied respectfully, “Revered master, this is indeed my humble abode.”

The Daoist regarded him for a moment, a hint of approval in his eyes. “I find myself unable to travel further. May I trouble you for shelter here a few days?”

Qi Fei sighed inwardly. Compared to this white-browed Daoist, he was less than an ant; how could he refuse? He hurried to answer, “If you wish to stay, the place is yours. Forgive its poor condition, I fear it may not suit your needs.”

“No matter,” the Daoist replied. “Thank you, young friend. However, I am somewhat incapacitated and must ask you to tend to my needs these next few days.” As he spoke, a flush rose to his pale cheeks, followed by a fit of harsh coughing.

Unable to move? Looking at the Daoist’s haggard face and disheveled appearance, remembering the messy prints at the valley entrance, Qi Fei suddenly realized: this man was gravely wounded. That explained why someone with such power was reduced to seeking refuge in this humble place. Surely a Daoist of his caliber carried treasures—and now, gravely injured and helpless…

Qi Fei shook his head, recalling with a shudder the terror of being rendered mute and paralyzed. He sternly warned himself to harbor no greedy thoughts or rash intentions.

As if reading his mind, the Daoist’s gaze grew sharp. “If I survive this tribulation, there will be reward. But I advise you—play no tricks, or you’ll bring certain doom upon yourself.”

No sooner had he finished than he formed a quick gesture. A fierce wind rose out of nowhere, and Qi Fei was swept up again, flung down hard at the Daoist’s feet.

Before he could beg for mercy, the Daoist produced a small pill from his robe. With another gesture, the pill transformed into a streak of green light and shot into Qi Fei’s body.

At once, a cool, soothing sensation spread from his wound. For a moment, all pain forgotten, Qi Fei stared in amazement as the torn flesh on his belly knit together before his eyes, mended by the glowing light.

Though only a humble gatherer, Qi Fei had seen many of the sect’s medicines. But none matched the miraculous efficacy of the Daoist’s little pill. He was struck dumb with wonder, and in his eyes burned a new, fervent admiration.