Hei Tian was ten years old that year.
But he didn't look it. Too calm. Too measured in his words, too slow in his movements. The other children seemed to have fire in their veins; he was silence. A silence as heavy as the mountains—watching the world without ever speaking.
For days now, a strange tension hung over the village.
Nothing obvious. Merchants still shouted their prices, the disciples of the small martial school trained as usual, and the elders continued their tales over tea. But in their eyes… there was restraint. As if something unseen was drawing near.
Hei Tian felt it. He didn't know what it was, but his entire body remained alert.
He spoke to Chen Mu, who stayed silent for a long time before replying:
— You're young to sense such things. Many live their whole lives without ever feeling them.
— Maybe I'm not "many," Hei Tian replied.
The old man stared at him for a moment. Then he chuckled, shaking his head.
— You talk like an old soul, Hei Tian. But don't be mistaken. What you feel may be real… or maybe just what you want to feel.
— And if there's a difference, what would it be?
Chen Mu only smiled, giving no answer.
---
That same day, on his way back from the hills, Hei Tian heard raised voices near the abandoned temple north of the village.
As he drew closer, he saw two disciples facing off. Ji Rong was still standing, barely, a bloody cut on his arm. In front of him stood an older boy, eyes filled with contained fury. A small crowd had gathered, murmuring quietly.
— Think your father, the blacksmith, can buy your honor?! the older boy shouted.
Ji Rong straightened, wincing.
— I didn't cheat. I followed the challenge rules.
— You're a liar. A cheating dog.
A blow was thrown.
Harsh. Brutal.
Ji Rong hit the ground.
No one moved.
Hei Tian stood at a distance, watching. He didn't like Ji Rong. But he didn't like what he was seeing, either.
He observed. The fists, the breath, the posture. He understood what was happening. Not just in the bodies—but in the tension, in the unspoken rules no one dared to name.
The older boy slowly turned toward him.
— What are you staring at, silent one?
Hei Tian didn't reply.
The boy took a step forward.
— You want to end up like him?
Hei Tian stood his ground. His gaze briefly dropped to the short blade at the boy's waist. Then to his feet.
— Your left heel is trembling, he said. You've got a compressed nerve.
The boy froze.
— Think you're clever?
— I'm warning you. If you strike me, I'll defend myself. Not because I want to. But because I must.
A strange stillness settled.
Then a bark of laughter.
— This little freak thinks he can stand against me!
He stepped forward again—but his left foot faltered.
Hei Tian took a single step back. Silently. His hand reached for a long, flat stone.
But someone spoke before any blow landed.
— That's enough!
A firm voice. A man's voice. The instructor from the martial school had arrived.
— Shame on you, fighting in a sacred place. You—back to the courtyard. The rest of you, disperse.
The group scattered.
Hei Tian stayed a moment longer.
Then, slowly, he looked up at the sky.
The clouds had thickened.
He said nothing. But inside, a thought whispered:> "Danger doesn't warn you. It comes. Even when you don't call it."
And in this world where strength often dictated justice, Hei Tian understood something new.
He didn't crave power.
But in the silence of that moment, beneath the thickening clouds, he realized:
He would need it
---