The Moon Continent

Qin Yao wiped the sweat from his brow, hands blackened from soot as he worked over the furnace. For twelve years now, he’d been learning his father’s craft—though he was only days away from turning thirteen. The steady, rhythmic sounds of the forge were comforting, grounding him as he worked. His father’s workshop was a place of discipline and skill, a place where flames and metal met, bending to his father’s will. Their family wasn’t the wealthiest in the Wu Dynasty of the Moon Continent, but they were respected. It was said that even the finest warriors wielded Qin Liu Feng’s blades. His father’s reputation was the family’s legacy, and Yao felt its weight every time he picked up a tool.

The Qin family compound itself was simple but elegant, with three interconnected courtyards surrounded by flowering trees and hedges. A small pond sparkled at the center of a garden beside the master’s courtyard, with fish darting through the clear water. Yao’s gaze drifted over the courtyard’s stone paths, worn smooth by generations of footsteps, and the training field where the guards honed their skills in-between the servants’ quarters and family’s quarters.

As he swept the area around the furnace, Yao’s broom caught on something—a pair of dusty, heavy molds tucked beneath a workbench, forgotten. He brushed the layers of dust from them, revealing intricately carved designs along the edges. Curious, he opened one of the molds, feeling a thrill as he peered inside. A sword lay there, though it wasn’t complete. The blade was blue and translucent, seeming almost to glow faintly. A shiver ran down his spine.

“Why wouldn’t Father finish a blade like this?” he murmured to himself, frowning. “And why hide it?” He glanced over his shoulder, feeling suddenly uneasy, as though someone were watching him. But he was alone.

He turned back to the second mold and opened it, revealing a sword nearly identical to the first but with subtle differences. The color was a shade lighter, its lines slightly sharper. His eye, trained from years of working alongside his father, could immediately tell this blade was superior, though perhaps only a Qin would notice.

Yao lifted the second sword carefully, holding it up to the light. The translucent blade seemed to catch and play with the morning sun. “It’s almost perfect… but something’s still missing,” he whispered, barely realizing he’d spoken.

General Bong Su’s Manor

A small, cloaked figure knelt before General Bong Su, his head lowered, hands clenched at his sides. His shoulders trembled.

“Are you certain of what you’re telling me?” General Bong Su’s voice was as cold and sharp as the steel he was known for.

“Yes, my lord,” came the reply, thin but steady. “I saw it myself. Qin Yao, the son of Qin Liu Feng, was toying with the sword, not realizing what it was. I believe Master Qin discarded it, perhaps blaming it for his brother’s death.”

General Bong Su let out a low, menacing laugh, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “What is your name, boy?”

The figure raised his head slightly, his face pale. “Zhen Wei, my lord.”

The General’s lips curved into a smirk. “Zhen Wei, if your information is accurate, I will reward you as promised. But if you’ve lied to me…” He let the threat linger, allowing Zhen Wei’s imagination to fill in the blanks.

Zhen Wei’s voice quivered, but he spoke with determination. “I wouldn’t dare lie to you, my lord. Everything I’ve said is true.”

The General leaned back, studying the young spy. “Very well. And your request?”

Zhen Wei hesitated, his head lowering again. “My lord, I… I beg you for my family’s freedom. My mother and my sister… they’ve been in your service for years.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of Zhen Wei’s words hanging heavy in the air. He dared not look up, holding his breath, wondering if he had just gambled everything.

The General glanced at his strategist, who gave a slight nod. Bong Su’s laughter echoed through the hall. “A simple request. If your information proves true, you’ll have your family’s freedom.”

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Relief flooded Zhen Wei’s face as he bowed low, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thank you, my lord.” He bowed three times, each one more fervent than the last, before the General’s guards stepped forward to escort him away.

When the doors closed, Bong Su turned to his strategist. “What do you think?” he asked, his voice now laced with intrigue.

The strategist, a man known for his shrewdness, met his gaze. “The information must be verified, of course. We’ll need to confirm the sword’s existence.”

“And the boy?”

The strategist’s gaze didn’t waver. “With respect, it would be wasteful to dispose of him. He infiltrated the Qin family compound and retrieved information without raising suspicion. Skilled agents have failed to do the same.”

Bong Su’s eyes narrowed as he considered this, his mind racing with possibilities. “What do you propose?”

“Reward him, my lord,” the strategist replied calmly. “Grant his family a small home nearby, under quiet surveillance. If you give the impression of valuing his loyalty, he may serve us further. Send him on missions to other places—perhaps even the palace itself. Others who see his reward will be more willing to do the same.”

Bong Su’s calculating grin returned. “Very well. But that’s only if we find the sword.”

The Qin Family

Back at the Qin compound, Yao carefully replaced the swords in their molds and closed them, ensuring every detail was as he’d found it. He headed to the courtyard, his thoughts racing. He felt a strange thrill as though he had unearthed a powerful secret—one he hadn’t meant to find. The morning sun rose higher, casting an orange glow across the courtyard.

Qin Liu Feng, Yao’s father, stood facing the dawn, his blue robe catching the light. His hands were clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if seeking something beyond it.

Yao moved to stand beside him, not speaking. They watched the sunrise in silence, the tranquility between them as vast as the sky. After a long moment, Yao broke the silence, his voice barely a whisper.

“Father… the blue swords in the workshop… Who were they made for?”

For a moment, his father was silent, and Yao thought he might not answer. But then Liu Feng sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of old memories.

“Those swords,” he began, his tone laced with sorrow, “were meant for my brother.” His gaze was distant, the light catching the edges of his face, revealing lines Yao hadn’t noticed before. “But some things… some things are too dangerous to hold.”

Yao swallowed, a knot forming in his stomach. He had so many questions, but as he looked at his father’s pained expression, he understood that some answers would not come easily—or without a cost. And in that quiet morning light, he felt a surge of determination, a flicker of something akin to destiny. He would carry on the Qin legacy, but he knew now that it was a legacy shrouded in both honor and peril.

Qin Liu Feng looked down at his son, his gaze intense, as if weighing whether he should share the burden of their family’s past. Qin Yao held his breath, waiting, wondering if his father would speak.

Finally, his father sighed, a look of resignation crossing his face. “Years ago, our family was among the most powerful in the Wu dynasty. We upheld two great legacies: our blacksmithing skills and the Chill Moon Sword Technique. The Chill Moon Technique has thirteen forms—each more powerful than the last. The first ten can be mastered with a strong sword and dedication. But the final three… those require an extraordinary blade to truly reach perfection.”

Yao listened intently, his heart pounding as his father continued.

“Your grandfather, Qin Meng Yao, mastered all thirteen forms. He was undefeated, a legend in the Wu dynasty. About a decade ago, when war broke out between the Wu dynasty and the Tang dynasty, our forces were on the brink of collapse. The Emperor summoned your grandfather, placing the fate of the dynasty on his shoulders, trusting in his unparalleled skill and his legendary Chaos Blade. With that blade in hand, your grandfather marched to war, and because of him, the Wu dynasty won.” Liu Feng’s voice softened, sadness threading through each word. “But he never returned. Neither he nor the Chaos Blade.”

Yao felt a pang of sorrow. He had heard bits and pieces of his grandfather’s story before, but the raw weight of his father’s words now filled the silence between them. Before he could speak, Liu Feng continued.

“Three years ago, something strange happened—a phenomenon in the sky. The kind that only appears when a rare treasure is born. The entire Wu dynasty was in uproar, with everyone, even the Emperor’s soldiers, searching for this treasure. Amid the chaos, my brother, Qin Mengzhu, stumbled upon three rare, blue-translucent crystals. He brought them to me and asked if I could forge them into something as powerful as the Chaos Blade, maybe even greater.”

Liu Feng’s voice grew heavy, his eyes darkening. “But fate wasn’t kind to us. Word of the crystals spread, attracting swordsmen from across the dynasty—and even those from distant lands. They all wanted those crystals. My brother, stubborn and unyielding, refused to hand them over. He defeated countless challengers, each one more determined than the last. But… he was eventually ambushed. Outnumbered. And he fell.”

Liu Feng’s voice grew faint, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the courtyard, lost in memories. “He died with honor, refusing to surrender. But the price was high. Those crystals were all we had left of a legacy that could rival even the Chaos Blade. Without them, our family’s strength… its future… is at risk.”

Qin Yao felt a surge of emotions—grief for an uncle he’d never get to see again, anger at those who had hunted him, and a fierce pride in the legacy of his family. He looked at his father, and in that moment, understood that he was no longer just a boy cleaning a furnace. He was a Qin, and the weight of his family’s legacy, for better or worse, now rested on his shoulders.