Chapter five

It was already morning, but the sun had yet to rise.

The sky remained gray, and the mansion slept under an almost sacred silence.

Xiu Zhao, curled beneath the sheets, slept peacefully — his breathing so faint it was as if he barely existed.

Xiao Yan watched him from afar, a playful smile forming on his lips until a mischievous gleam took over his face.

Without warning, he stepped closer and *pushed the boy off the bed.*

A low cry of pain echoed through the room. Xiu Zhao, still half-asleep, rubbed his aching back.

“Let’s start training.”

The voice sounded firm, almost serious — yet the tone betrayed a suppressed urge to laugh.

The boy blinked several times, confused, trying to understand what was happening. Before he could react, Xiao Yan grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room.

He didn’t even have time to put on his boots — or his upper robes.

The cold morning air cut against his skin, and his half-closed eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light.

With a mere wave of his hand, Xiao Yan changed his clothes — now Xiu Zhao was wrapped in a dark-blue robe.

They stopped at the entrance of the sect, surrounded by a circle of red lines drawn on the ground.

Still sleepy, the boy tied his hair into a high bun, and only then noticed the seriousness in his master’s eyes.

“Your training begins now.”

Xiao Yan clasped his hands behind his back, voice firm, gaze stern.

Xiu Zhao nodded silently.

“Start with a hundred laps around the circle.”

His finger pointed to the red markings on the ground.

A hundred laps.

The circle was enormous — at least a hundred meters in diameter.

Xiu Zhao’s heart sank.

“If you stop before finishing, you’ll start over.”

The tone was calm, yet the threat was hidden between every syllable.

Xiu Zhao swallowed hard and began to run.

At first, his steps were light, but soon his body yielded to exhaustion.

His breathing grew heavy, his chest burned, sweat dripped from his skin.

And the sun, finally risen, watched him — indifferent.

The disciples of the sect paused to watch.

Some felt pity. Others, mere curiosity.

When he finished, the boy collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.

“Now, a hundred push-ups. Then, a hundred squats.”

Xiu Zhao raised his face, pale, eyes wide — but Xiao Yan’s cold stare left no room for defiance.

He obeyed.

Each descent was a battle against his own body.

His arms trembled, his legs burned, the air escaped his lungs.

But he didn’t stop.

When he finally finished, he fell back, sitting on the ground, utterly spent.

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?” he asked, breathless.

Xiao Yan didn’t answer. He simply walked — and obediently, Xiu Zhao followed.

They crossed the silent courtyards until they reached an old room, its walls lined with books and vials of colored liquids.

Xiao Yan gathered several volumes and placed them on a table.

“What are these books for?” the boy asked, flipping one open curiously.

“To teach you martial arts,” he replied with a faint smile. “When you master every movement, I’ll give you a gift.”

The word *gift* made Xiu Zhao’s eyes sparkle.

Xiao Yan chuckled softly — the boy was truly adorable.

“How long do I have to learn them all?”

“Since you’re still a child… and Yu Sheng’s son, I’ll give you six months.”

His tone grew serious again. “I want you to apply each technique in real combat.”

“I’ll try,” Xiu Zhao said with an innocent smile.

“No — you’ll succeed.”

Xiao Yan left, and the boy immersed himself in the books, studying every move until night fell.

Later, he took a long bath, the warm water easing his aching body.

But he didn’t realize he was being watched.

From far away, golden eyes followed him — hungry, devouring every drop that slid down his skin.

“What a beautiful creature…” murmured the blond, smiling in delight.

A call interrupted his reverie.

“Prince Chen, His Majesty awaits you in his chambers.”

Chen lifted his gaze, irritated.

“I’m coming.”

His voice carried the weight of frustration, and he passed the maid without looking back.

Meanwhile, Xiu Zhao finished his bath, dressed in clean clothes, and ate quietly, a small smile of satisfaction on his lips.

Then he went to sleep — excited for the next day’s training.

…

Weeks turned into months.

The boy who had once been gentle and pure was now cold, disciplined, merciless in battle.

Yet to Yu Sheng and Xiao Yan, he was still the same — their precious child, the boy who carried within him something… dangerous.

Time passed.

And the day of the trial arrived.

Xiu Zhao — now ten years old — would face the strongest general of the sect: his own uncle, Xiao Yan.

No weapons. No mercy.

“Begin!” shouted the referee.

The silence shattered under the sound of footsteps, punches, and heavy blows.

Xiu Zhao attacked with fury, but his uncle blocked each strike with ease.

Hits to the stomach, to the legs, to the face.

Blood dripped, yet he didn’t stop.

“Fight as if you were at war!” roared Xiao Yan, striking again.

The pain burned.

And then, a voice echoed in his mind — cruel, cold:

“How do you expect to protect anyone if you can’t even protect yourself? That’s why you couldn’t save your mother.”

The world around him dissolved.

The memory of the woman dying in his arms enveloped him.

The blood. The scream. The helplessness.

*I’m useless.*

*I couldn’t even protect my mother…*

A dark aura began to swirl around his body.

The ground trembled.

The air grew heavy.

When he attacked again, his blows were fast, violent, impossible to predict.

Xiao Yan, now at a disadvantage, struggled to keep up.

Yu Sheng watched in silence — eyes sharp, heart tight.

The final blow came — and before it could land, Yu Sheng intervened.

The impact sent him flying.

Xiu Zhao collapsed, unconscious.

The field fell silent.

Xiao Yan gathered him in his arms, wiping the blood from his face.

“He’s fine,” he said, panting. “Just fainted.”

But Yu Sheng knew — something was wrong.

Something inside him was growing.

They carried him to the master’s quarters.

A healer was summoned.

When he examined the boy’s body, his face went pale.

“The boy… has no pulse.”

The silence was suffocating.

The healer, desperate to understand, channeled energy into him — and what he found inside was only darkness.

“What are you searching for, old man?”

The voice came from everywhere — deep, abyssal.

Red eyes opened within the shadows.

A monstrous smile took shape.

“Looks like I’ve found my dinner.”

The healer tried to run, but it was too late.

The shadow consumed him.

When he returned to his body, he screamed — terrified.

“H-he’s a monster!”

He stumbled out of the room in panic, nearly falling as he fled.

Yu Sheng stared at his unconscious son.

Hatred and fear flickered in his eyes.

“It was a mistake bringing you into this world. You’re a monster.”

The words pierced through the walls.

And Xiu Zhao’s heart — the same heart that once belonged to Chen — shattered in silence.

Tears slid down his cheeks.

Without a word, he packed his things, donned his black cloak, and slipped out the window.

The night received him in silence.

He walked to the teleportation circle and vanished.

He emerged at the entrance of a small village, the mist parting around him.

He walked under the pale moonlight, hood covering his face.

But something was wrong.

The sound of hearts — he could hear them. All of them.

“…What’s happening to me?” he whispered, desperate.

The people smiled, alive and calm — yet around them, he saw creatures: thin shadows with red eyes and sharp fangs, lurking near every human.

Fear seized him.

He began to run.

Then the air changed.

A sweet scent spread — *his* scent.

The people stopped, intoxicated.

They inhaled deeply. Hungry.

“I want that scent… I want more…”

Xiu Zhao, not understanding, stumbled onto an empty street.

His chest tightened.

His lungs refused to breathe.

A terrible hunger consumed him — ancient, cruel, unknown.

A child crossed the street.

Pure. Innocent. And in that instant, Xiu Zhao’s gaze fell into the abyss. The darkness called to him.

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