As Zhao Yi strolled along the weathered cobblestone road leading to Xi City, a gentle breeze tousled his long black hair, carrying the scent of distant blossoms and fresh earth. The last of the harvest months had come and the blossoms were filling the air with their distinct scent. The sun, nestled comfortably between tufts of wispy clouds, cast a golden hue over the landscape, illuminating the lush, rolling hills that flanked either side of the path. The tranquil ambiance, coupled with the occasional chirping of birds perched in the nearby trees, made for a serene journey.

Zhao Yi, walked with purpose; it wouldn't be long before the Xi tournament started and he wanted to give himself at least some time to relax before the big event, his steady steps echoed against the cobbled ground. Despite the weight of a knapsack slung over his shoulder, he didn't feel too weary. Two years of hard labor had trained his body well for the journey..

As he rounded a bend, his path unexpectedly intersected with a bustling procession. A convoy of finely adorned carriages and mounted guards emerged, their presence disrupting the tranquility of the road. The caravan, a blend of opulence and practicality, bore the sigil of the Xi Clan, the emblem shimmering in the sunlight, hinting at their wealth and influence.

Zhao Yi paused, taking in the spectacle before him. The clatter of hooves against the ground mingled with the jingle of ornate harnesses, the sound resonating through the air. The leader of the convoy, was an imposing figure with a dignified air, rode at the forefront. Clad in robes adorned with golden embroideries that spoke of the man’s prestige, he exuded an aura of authority. His steely gaze swept the surroundings, vigilant yet composed.

Observing the convoy, Zhao Yi dipped his head respectfully as they approached, stepping aside to make way for their passage. His curiosity piqued, he studied the procession. It was wise for him to not risk showing disrespect to anyone in the Xi clan.

The man was middle aged just starting to show gray in his full beard, but still seemed young despite this. The man’s eyes met Zhao Yi and he could swear the man had a small smile on his face as he passed. At the moment a sudden pressure built up around him and he collapsed to his knees as the convoy passed.

Zhao Yi’s eyes widened with shock as he looked at the man who continued on his way not bothering to look back. The man had forcibly opened his meridens and suddenly he could sense the energy around him begin to trickle into his soul.

‘Why? The man had no reason to help him…why?’ the convoy passed out of sight at the next bend of the road leaving Zhao Yi in a state of shock.

Zhao Yi continued along the winding path, the rustling leaves overhead casting shifting patterns of light and shadow upon the road. Zhao Yi had spent the last two hours absorbing and testing the energy around him it wasn’t a lot and felt like he was trying to squeeze water into the smallest hole imaginable, but the trickle was enough he finally could be called a cultivator simply due to sheer dumb luck and a gracious cultivator. Zhao Yi’s entire life thus far had been a struggle and many people said cultivators did not care about the lives of those who couldn’t cultivate it didn’t matter to him. As far as he was concerned whether out of curiosity, generosity, or a fleeting decision he knew that he would one day have to repay this cultivator for his kindness.

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Zhao Yi’s concentration on the trickle of energy flowing into his soul was abruptly shattered by the distant echoes of clashing metal and desperate shouts that cut through the serenity of the forest.

Quickening his pace, Zhao Yi followed the path as it curved around a bend obscured by dense foliage. As he drew closer, the sounds of battle grew louder, mingling with the anguished cries that pierced the air. With each hurried step, a sense of foreboding settled over him, urging him onward despite the potential danger ahead.

Soon Zhao Yi's gaze fell upon the source of the noise and a chaotic scene unfolded. The convoy he had encountered earlier was under attack, their once-stately procession now reduced to a battleground. The road was littered with fallen soldiers, their uniforms bearing the sigil of the Xi clan, their valiant efforts seemingly in vain against the onslaught of bandits that encircled them.

The attackers, a motley crew of ruffians adorned in tattered attire and makeshift armor, outnumbered the defenders at least 5 to 1. Their faces contorted with bloodlust as they clashed mercilessly with the remaining guards, their weapons flashing in the dappled sunlight.

In the heart of the tumult, the middle-aged leader, whom Zhao Yi had seen guiding the convoy, stood resolute amidst the chaos. His robes, now stained with smudges of dirt and blood, billowed around him as he confronted the bandit leader—a burly, menacing figure whose demeanor oozed ferocity and cunning.

The bandit leader, a towering presence with a rugged countenance marked by a patch over one eye, wielded a formidable-looking blade that gleamed malevolently in the fractured light. His every movement exuded a menacing grace as if he found this as natural as breathing.

Zhao Yi, heart racing with adrenaline, surveyed the scene, torn between instinctual caution and an unspoken urge to aid the imperiled convoy. With a deep breath he decided that fate had decided this was his moment to pay back the Xi clan cultivator.

Weaving his way through the chaos of the battle the Middle aged cultivator took a bad hit to his ribs causing him to buckle to his knees. Clutching his side he looked up at the bandit leader who readied his mace to do a final blow which would essentially doom the convoy.

Without a seconds hesitation Zhao Yi leapt forward and took his quarterstaff and sent it to the back of the bandit’s head. Who didn’t stumble due to it, but turned his face to Zhao Yi.

“I guess a boy is looking for a death wish!” the bandit roared as he turned to Zhao Yi.

As the bandit readied himself he realized his mistake in his rage filled moment and turned back to the wounded cultivator.

Only to have a sword pierce his throat. Blooded gurgled out of his wound as he collapsed into a heap. “Bandits like you are over confident and that is what led to your defeat today scum.” the Middle aged man spat on the fallen body of the leader. His eyes watched as the rest of the bandits ran quickly.

Zhao Yi and the Middle aged cultivators' eyes met for a moment before Zhao Yi bowed and went to try and help some of the wounded.

The only thought that entered Zhao Yi’s mind was don’t let this opportunity go to waste.