Wudang Mountain, a bastion of Murim orthodoxy, stands weary beneath the weight of its past.

Its pagodas stretched toward the heavens, home to swordsmen whose grace defied steel itself. Within its halls, the clash of blades once wove a harmony of wisdom and discipline. But now, the echoes have dimmed, and the wind carries only ghosts. The war against Cheonma left scars not only on the land but on Wudang's spirit. Disciples train, but fewer arrive each year. Doubt seeps into the foundation, cracking what was once unshakable.

And among those who remain, one name barely holds weight at all.

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"Get up, you idiot! Before Elder Jung-hi punishes us again!"

Yujin's voice cuts through the pre-dawn silence like a blade through silk. A moment later, rough hands seize my blanket and yank me onto the cold, unyielding wooden floor. The impact sends a sharp jolt of pain through my spine, yanking me from the haze of sleep.

"Are you insane?!" I groan, rubbing my forehead as I glare up at him.

"Not as insane as you. You'll regret it more if you skip training." His smirk is sharp, confident—annoyingly effortless.

Yujin has always been like that. Effortless. A natural prodigy, his every move exudes the grace and control of a true Wudang disciple. Even now, standing in the dim light of the barracks, his crisp robes settle neatly over his lean, well-trained frame.

His long, dark hair, tied in the traditional Wudang topknot, is undisturbed, as if gravity itself respects his talent. Compared to him, I must look like a beggar who wandered in by mistake—my robes wrinkled, my hair an unruly mess.

I sigh. Why can't he just let me be? It's not like I have talent. Compared to even a third-rate martial artist, I'm nothing.

Still, there's no avoiding it. Grumbling under my breath, I pull myself up and follow.

Outside, Wudang Sect stands as it always has—an ancient monolith of tradition and discipline. Despite the scars left by the failed war against Cheonma, Wudang remains a pillar of Murim. The grand dojo looms over the landscape, its towering pagodas standing resolute against the morning mist.

Age-old calligraphy is etched into the wooden beams, the strokes bold yet fluid, whispering of a time when Wudang's strength was unquestioned. Statues of past grandmasters line the stone pathways, their watchful gazes a silent judgment upon the present generation.

The air is thick with the scent of pine and aged parchment, mingling with the crisp morning wind. Incense smoke curls lazily from the temple hall, its silver tendrils rising like the prayers of the hopeful. But there is a stillness here, a quiet sorrow lingering beneath the surface.

Though the buildings stand tall, the life within them is fading. Where once a hundred disciples would train in harmony, now only a few dozen remain. The echoes of their movements fill the training yard, but they lack the thunderous spirit of the past.

The deeper I walk, the more I see. What was once a thriving sanctuary of students and masters, alive with the clash of blades and the murmur of wisdom, now stands quiet. Many have turned away, unwilling to learn from a sect that lost to the Heavenly Demon. Wudang is no longer untouchable—and we, its disciples, can feel it.

But no matter. The past is the past. It's time to focus on the present.

The training grounds buzzed with energy, full of disciples whose movements were sharp, disciplined, strong. Even the weakest among them could probably knock me flat. And they had. Many times.

"Took you long enough," a voice growls.

Elder Jung-hi stands before us, his presence alone enough to make the bravest disciples shrink. His graying beard is neatly combed, his robes pristine despite the dust of the training yard. Deep lines mark his face, not from age but from years of discipline, years of upholding Wudang's teachings through victories and failures alike. His sharp, hawk-like eyes scan the gathered disciples, their scrutiny more punishing than any strike.

"Grab a wooden sword and get ready. The practical exam begins now."

Even if I wanted to resist, I had no choice. Angering Elder Jung-hi would only make things worse.

With a sigh, I grab a wooden sword, its weight familiar yet uninspiring. Around me, the duels are already underway. Yujin, ever the prodigy, dispatches his opponent in less than a minute.

"Showoff." The thought creeps in before I can stop it. It's not that I hate him—how could I? But standing next to his talent, it's hard not to feel the sting of envy.

One by one, matches end, and then—inevitably—it's my turn.

Stepping into the center of the training yard, I feel dozens of eyes settle on me. They already know how this will play out.

A snicker cuts through the murmurs.

"Hey, Third-Rate Chen."

Haoyu.

f there was ever a disciple more insufferable than him, I have yet to meet them. He strides forward with the air of someone who already considers the fight over, his wooden sword resting lazily on his shoulder. His expression is full of amusement, his lips curled into a smirk that makes my stomach turn.

I've never understood how someone with his personality lasted this long here.

But right now, that doesn't matter. Right now, I have to fight.

"It's Jiang Chen to you," I mutter without thinking.

Crap.

"Eh? So little Chen finally grew some balls?" Haoyu sneers, his stance shifting.

This isn't just another sparring match. He's planning to make me remember this one.

I glance at Elder Jung-hi. A master like him should be able to sense Haoyu's intent. But he's not stopping it.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Why?

Am I really that worthless?

The thought claws at me, but I force it down. No use dwelling on it. I just need to endure—let Haoyu have his fun and make sure he doesn't leave too many lasting injuries.

But then—

"You know, Jiang Chen, I think I finally understand why your master left. Watching you struggle is just... sad."

What?

Did he really just say that?

My grip tightens. My stance shifts.

Elder Jung-hi notices. His expression darkens—not with anger, but with something worse. Disappointment.

That only fuels the fire inside me.

"You fucker!"

I lunge, rage clouding my thoughts. Haoyu just laughs.

"Is that really what you call swordsmanship?"

He barely even tries. A lazy sidestep. My wooden sword cuts through nothing but air. He could end this now, but that's not what he wants.

I see it too late.

His blade swings in a wide arc—aimed directly at my chest.

"Agh—!" air coming out of my lungs from the sheer impact of the blow.

"I don't even need to use Wudang's techniques to beat you." Haoyu declares proudly.

A dull crack. Fire blooms in my ribs. My breath dies before it can even leave my lungs, and my body folds against the force. My vision flickers. For a second, I forget how to breathe as I'm sent flying a few meters back.

"Let me teach you how to really lunge, while actually using Wudang's techniques."

Smug. Condescending.

I see the next attack coming—straight for my head. I raise my sword, desperate to block. But the moment I react—

Haoyu sighed—actually sighed—before twisting his wrist.

"Returning Wind Thrust!" he shouts a mocking declaration of technique.

His blade curved like a shifting breeze, my defenses a step too slow. A sharp impact tore through my ribs. Then, I was airborne.

"Shit—!"

I crash hard against the ground, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. My arms shake as I try to push myself up.

"Next match."

Elder Jung-hi's voice cuts through the ringing in my ears.

"What?" Haoyu snaps his head toward him, clearly unsatisfied. "I wasn't even done yet! Please reconsider, I'm sure little Chen here can fight some more, isn't that right?"

He turns to me, smirking.

I can't even answer.

"Do not disobey me, Haoyu. Next match."

Haoyu clicks his tongue but steps back. I stay where I am, the weight of my own failure pinning me to the dirt.

Yujin runs toward me as I clutch my liver in pain.

"Jiang Chen! Are you okay?" concern etched in his voice

"Bring him to the infirmary." Elder Jung-hi declares.

Pain flares through my side as I struggle to breathe.

Yujin rushes to my side, his voice thick with concern. "Jiang Chen! Are you okay?"

I grit my teeth. The last thing I need right now is pity.

"Bring him to the infirmary," Elder Jung-hi orders.

No.

I shove Yujin aside, staggering to my feet. My vision wavers, my breath ragged, but I refuse to let anyone—especially him—see me like this.

Each step sends a dagger into my ribs. I keep walking anyway. I don't stop, don't look back. If I do, I'll see their faces. I'll hear their laughter. And that'll hurt more than anything Haoyu did to me.

"Third-rate trash."

"He can't even take one hit properly."

"No wonder his master abandoned him."

Their laughter is quiet, but it cuts deeper than Haoyu's sword ever could.

I keep walking—out of the training grounds, away from their stares—until my body gives in. The path beneath me is cracked stone, smoothed by centuries of footsteps, now littered with the golden remnants of autumn. A lone ginkgo tree stands at the edge of the sect, its branches splayed like an ancient guardian, leaves trembling in the wind.

My fingers press into the dirt. My body shakes, but I don't know if it's from exhaustion or something deeper.

Elder Zhang.

A master equal to Elder Jung-hi. My teacher. My guide.

And yet, he disappeared.

Wudang's official stance? He was sent to investigate demonic cult activity near Nanyang.

The rumors?

That he left because of me.

That I was a failure unworthy of his guidance.

That I was an impurity disrupting the flow of Wudang itself.

"Damn it! Why! … Why… WHY!"

The words tear from my throat as I hurl fistfuls of dirt, scattering them in a storm of frustration. My hands shake, nails digging into the earth. Years of anger, shame, and helplessness boil over, spilling into the quiet of the forest.

"He insulted you! And I—I couldn't do anything! I couldn't even defeat him for disrespecting you…" My voice cracks, rage faltering into something else—something raw and broken.

"I thought—if I just became stronger… if I proved myself… then maybe you'd come back. Maybe you'd see your disciple had become a worthy martial artist..."

The fire in my voice dims, smothered by regret. By loss. By the weight of mistakes I can never take back.

"Why… why… why…"

My body crumbles beneath the ginkgo tree, head bowed as the wind whispers through golden leaves. The scent of damp earth and fallen foliage fills my senses. Hours slip by, lost in the tangle of my thoughts, until the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the mountain.

Then—

A gust of wind stirs the leaves above, carrying with it a faint rustling. But it is not the rustling of nature—it is something else.

Paper.

I lift my head.

A letter, wedged into the bark of the tree, qi pulsing faintly around it, as if shielding it from time. My breath hitches. A message left behind? A whisper from the past?

Ignoring the pain in my ribs, I force my body up, using a crude Cloud Step to reach the branch. My vision swims, but I push through it, fingers closing around the letter's fragile edges. The moment I pull it free, the protective qi dissipates, its duty fulfilled.

The parchment drifts down, landing in my shaking hands.

The handwriting—familiar. Unmistakable.

I swallow hard and begin to read.

"If you are reading this, then I was right—you finally hit the bottom. Good. You needed to."

A chill runs through me.

"Do you think I abandoned you? That I saw you as worthless? That's the same lie I told myself when my own master left me behind. But I see now… he never abandoned me. I abandoned him."

My grip on the letter tightens. The words blur as my vision trembles.

No… no, this can't be—

"You still have a choice, Jiang Chen. Take the broken sword. If you leave it behind, then you were never meant to walk this path. If you pick it up, then prove to me, to him, and to yourself… that you can succeed where we failed."

The first tear falls before I even realize it.

I clutch the letter tighter. My breath shudders.

"This…" My voice cracks. "This is from—"

Another tear, then another. They slip past my control, falling freely.

I shake my head, choking back a sob. "No… this can't be real. He wouldn't… He—"

But the ink does not waver. The handwriting is unmistakable. Every word, every stroke—his.

My master.

"To fall is to follow the flow. To resist the current is to drown. If you are reading this, you have already chosen—so will you sink, or will you move with the river?"

Being the final line of the letter

Tears pour now, slow at first, then unstoppable, flowing like a river breaking through a crumbling dam.

Tears for my lost pride.

Tears for my bitterness, my doubt, my weakness.

Tears, flowing like water—uncontrolled, unrestrained, yet natural.

This is Wudang's way, isn't it? Water does not resist. It does not fight its path. It flows, shaping even the hardest stone over time.

And at this moment, I understand.

I let the tears fall. I let them shape me.

For the first time in years, I am not fighting the flow.

And for the first time, I finally believe—

He never abandoned me.

As my breathing steadies, a shift in the air sends a shiver down my spine. Something stirs—an unseen presence, no longer concealed. It was always here, waiting, but only now does it reveal itself. As if answering my resolve, the qi that once hid it dissipates like mist in the wind.

A sword.

Half-buried beneath the ginkgo tree, its blade is fractured, its once-pristine edge dulled by time. Yet despite its ruined state, there is no mistaking it. The hilt, wrapped in worn blue silk, bears the mark of Wudang—a master's blade, left behind for a disciple yet to rise.

My breath catches.

A part of me hesitates—what use is a broken sword? But another part, something deeper, refuses to turn away.

Compelled by something beyond reason, I reach out.

The moment my fingers wrap around the hilt, a surge of qi erupts from the blade, flooding into my body like a roaring tide. My vision blurs, my chest tightens, and an ancient power thrums through my very core.

Then—

A voice.

It does not speak. It resonates—a soundless tremor that shakes the heavens, echoing across all of Mt. Wudang.

"So the time has finally come."