The spider was massive, its black carapace glinting in the faint light. Its eyes glowed like embers, and its fangs dripped with venom that sizzled as it hit the ground. Tao barely had time to react before a web shot out, ensnaring him in sticky, unyielding strands.
Jian shouted, his sword flashing as he tried to free Tao, but another web struck him, pinning him to the ground. The spider loomed closer, its movements deliberate and menacing.
Tao struggled against the webs, his heart pounding as the creature’s shadow engulfed them. The ruins and their hard-won spoils faded from his mind as he slowly drifted into a world of illusions.
Tao's mind was awash with colours and sounds, a haze of warmth and familiarity that felt too vivid to question. He found himself standing in a small courtyard bathed in golden sunlight, the laughter of a child echoing through the air. His younger self ran barefoot across the cobblestones, a carefree smile lighting up his face as he chased a fluttering paper kite.
“Tao, come inside!” His mother’s voice was soft but carried the weight of unshakable authority. She stood by the doorway, her figure framed by the warm glow of the house’s hearth. Her hair was tied neatly, her face a portrait of maternal pride as she waved him in.
Inside, his father stood beside a table, its surface worn smooth from years of use. A faintly glowing lamp cast a warm light over the room, illuminating the neat arrangement of herbs spread across the table. Bundles of dried leaves and delicate flowers were laid out in precise rows, and a small mortar and pestle rested beside an open scroll filled with detailed herbal formulas.
His father’s weathered hands moved with deliberate care, grinding a mixture of herbs into a fine powder while occasionally jotting notes onto a scrap of parchment. The sharp, earthy scent of crushed leaves mingled with the faint aroma of the evening meal still lingering in the air.
When Tao entered, his father glanced up, his stern face framed by streaks of silver in his dark hair. The hard lines of his expression softened into a rare smile, his sharp eyes gleaming with quiet pride. “Tao,” he said, setting down the pestle, “one day, you’ll bring honour to our family. With your spirit roots, you’ll rise above us all, higher than anything these hands have ever built.”
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The memory shifted. Tao was older now, kneeling before his parents with his first cultivation manual in hand. His mother’s eyes sparkled with pride, and his father’s firm hand rested on his shoulder. “You are our hope,” his father said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “With your talent, our family will thrive.”
But then the warmth began to fade. The courtyard grew colder, the sunlight dimming as another voice echoed in the distance.
“Tao’s talent is average at best, but the younger brother’s spirit roots are exceptional,” an unfamiliar man said. Tao turned and saw a robed figure standing before his parents, his brother beside him. His brother was barely ten, his expression timid but eager.
The robed man smiled. “The Golden Flame Sect will take him far. With proper guidance, he could surpass anyone from a small place like this.”
Tao’s chest tightened as the scene shifted again. His brother, now a teenager, stood tall in robes of gold and crimson, his presence exuding confidence. Their parents stood beside him, their expressions filled with pride that Tao hadn’t seen directed at him in years.
“You’ll understand, Tao,” his father said one evening, his tone heavy with forced sympathy.
“Your brother’s potential is extraordinary. The resources must go where they’re needed most.”
Tao watched himself fade into the background, a shadow in his own family. His meals became smaller, his requests for resources met with excuses. His parents’ praise, once a constant, now reserved for his brother. The resentment simmered, unspoken but palpable.
Another scene flickered to life; a memory Tao had buried deeply. His brother, older now, visiting the family estate during a sect break. “You’re still at the first layer of Qi Condensation?” his brother had asked, his tone light but cutting. “No wonder Father stopped wasting resources on you. It’s a shame, really. You had potential once.”
The words echoed in Tao’s mind, a bitter chorus that stirred anger and hurt. He clenched his fists, his Qi flaring instinctively. The courtyard blurred, the warmth replaced by a cold, suffocating darkness.
“Tao,” a voice whispered, familiar yet distant. It wasn’t his mother or father. It wasn’t his brother.
It was the Jade Mountain.
A pulse of energy reverberated through him, shattering the illusion like glass. Tao gasped, his senses flooding back as the oppressive warmth of the forest replaced the false comfort of the memory.