The village of Red Sun was nestled deep within the Eastern Territories, a region where the very air seemed to hum with energy, a place where martial prowess and spiritual cultivation were the lifeblood of its people. It was here, in this peaceful but often unforgiving world, that Lin Feng would take his first breaths. This village, though small, had long been known for its people’s resilience—people who spent their days tilling the soil, raising animals, and training their spiritual energy in hopes of becoming cultivators. For them, strength determined their value in life, their status, and their future. To be weak was to be nothing.
But not every person born into this land was destined for greatness.
On a chilly morning in late autumn, a thin layer of frost had settled on the earth, the colors of the trees slowly turning from green to brilliant shades of gold, red, and amber. It was on this morning, when the village had barely stirred, that a small cry echoed out from the humble home of the Lin family. The cry was weak, but persistent, filling the otherwise silent home with a sense of anticipation.
Inside the single-room hut, Mei Ling gripped the side of her bed, her face contorted in pain as she clutched her newborn son in her arms. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she panted, the effort of childbirth leaving her exhausted. Her hands shook as she gently cradled the small, fragile infant. This would be her third child, but it felt as if this labor had taken every ounce of strength she had.
"Zhao, is he... is he well?" Mei Ling whispered, her voice weak from the effort. She tried to focus her gaze on her husband, Lin Zhao, who had been anxiously pacing at the side of the room, his broad figure towering in the small space.
Lin Zhao, with his broad shoulders and weathered hands, paused and stepped forward. His heart beat fast as he glanced down at the newborn, feeling a lump form in his throat. He had hoped for a healthy child, someone strong, someone who could bring pride to the Lin family, but as he gazed upon the child, he knew immediately that there was something... different. The child was small, so small, and his skin seemed unusually pale. But it was his eyes—those dark, almost empty eyes—that held Lin Zhao's gaze.
"He's... he's alive," Lin Zhao finally managed, though his voice lacked the hope he had once imagined. His lips formed a tight, forced smile, though his heart was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. He had always imagined his first son would be strong—one of the great cultivators that would bring honor to the Lin name. But this child, this small, fragile baby in his wife’s arms, gave him little hope.
“Is he… weak?” Mei Ling’s voice faltered as she looked down at the child. Her eyes filled with worry as she thought of the harsh realities that awaited a weak child in the Eastern Territories, a place where power was everything.
Lin Zhao looked down at his newborn son once more, trying to hide the doubt that gnawed at his heart. “We’ll see,” he muttered. "Let’s not rush to conclusions. Let’s give him a chance."
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As the days passed, Lin Feng grew at a pace that matched the changing seasons—slowly, steadily, yet unmistakably. However, it was clear from the very beginning that he was not like other children. Most children in Red Sun were born with spiritual veins, a gift passed down through bloodlines. These veins were a network of energy channels that allowed a person to harness and cultivate spiritual energy. A child with spiritual veins would be able to start cultivating from an early age, learning the art of martial combat and spiritual cultivation. But Lin Feng was different. His veins, which should have glowed with the soft light of spiritual energy, were dull, lifeless. There was nothing special about him, and the villagers soon began to take notice.
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Every year, when the village’s children reached the age of five, the elders would perform a spiritual awakening ceremony to determine if the children had spiritual veins. Those who did would be celebrated and trained in the arts of cultivation, while those who lacked them would be treated as ordinary citizens, with no future in the world of martial arts. Lin Feng’s awakening ceremony came and went without fanfare. When he stood before the elder, his hand placed upon the Awakening Stone, there was nothing. No surge of energy. No light. No recognition of any power within him. The villagers were not surprised. Lin Feng had shown no potential for spiritual energy, and his veins did not glow.
At first, Mei Ling had refused to believe it. She stayed up late at night, praying to the heavens, asking them to bless her son. But every year that passed brought more disappointment, more sorrow. Lin Feng struggled to even pick up the simplest of weapons, the wooden practice swords often slipping from his hands as he fumbled during training sessions.
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One evening, as Lin Feng sat in the courtyard, staring up at the sky, his mind wandered to the stories his parents had told him. They spoke of heroes—great cultivators who had risen from humble beginnings to become the most powerful warriors in the land. These stories filled him with a burning desire, a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, he could be like them. The moon hung low in the sky, its light casting a soft glow across the earth. He had always loved the moon—the way it hung in the heavens, serene and untouchable, yet so beautiful.
“I will be like the moon,” Lin Feng whispered to himself, his voice soft, as if the night itself would hear his promise. "I will rise above the darkness."
The years had passed in a blur, and with each year that passed, Lin Feng had learned more about the harsh realities of life. The other children in the village had surpassed him in their cultivation, developing powerful techniques and mastering martial arts, while Lin Feng remained stagnant. His family had hoped that, by some miracle, his spiritual veins would awaken, but there was no sign of it. In the eyes of the villagers, he was nothing.
And yet, despite the years of ridicule, despite his own doubts, Lin Feng had a secret—a quiet, burning determination that he hid from everyone. Even as he watched his peers rise and his own potential remain dormant, he refused to give up. He would never stop trying.
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As Lin Feng’s sixteenth birthday approached, he knew it would be no different from the years before. The Spiritual Vein Awakening Ceremony would come, as it did for every child in the village, and he would once again be proven a failure. But still, a small part of him dared to hope. This year—this time—something might be different.
His parents, Mei Ling and Lin Zhao, though supportive, knew deep in their hearts that the outcome would be the same. Their son, like many before him, had no potential. But they refused to voice their disappointment. Their love for him remained steadfast.
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The morning of Lin Feng's ceremony was cold and crisp. The sun had barely risen when the villagers gathered in the center of the village square, ready for the important event. The Spiritual Vein Awakening Stone, a large, smooth boulder carved with ancient symbols, stood at the center, glowing faintly. Lin Feng walked toward the stone, his heart heavy but determined. He stood before it, and his hands were placed upon its surface. The entire village waited in silence.
At first, nothing happened. Then, a slight tremor began beneath his fingertips, and Lin Feng’s eyes widened. For the briefest of moments, he felt a rush of warmth inside him, a surge of energy he had never experienced before. His hands tightened around the stone as his body seemed to hum with an unfamiliar force.
And then, in an instant, the entire stone cracked. A brilliant light shot out, dazzling everyone around him. The villagers gasped, unsure of what was happening. The stone itself shattered, sending a wave of energy rippling through the air, and Lin Feng’s body glowed with an ethereal golden light, filling the square with an awe-inspiring radiance.
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The ceremony had ended, but the villagers were still silent, stunned by what they had witnessed. Lin Feng stood, trembling, but feeling something new within him—something vast, ancient, and powerful.
His father, Lin Zhao, stepped forward. “What is this?” he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.
The village elder, who had overseen many ceremonies, looked at Lin Feng with wide eyes. “This... this is not of our world.”
The child who had been labeled weak, the child who had been nothing more than a failure in the eyes of the world, had just revealed something far more profound than anyone could have imagined.
The heavens had granted him a power beyond understanding.