The scent of thin, watery broth and stale flour hung heavy in the air, a pathetic aroma for a sect that boasted celestial origins. He Chuan stood at the tail end of the line, a skeletal shadow among the grubby outer servants of the Mist-Piercing Pavilion, his tattered grey robes clinging to a frame that used to ripple with youthful power. Today’s ration was a single, shriveled tuber and a handful of withered Sky-Dew greens, barely enough to sustain a sparrow. His turn approached. The weary deacon, a man named Elder Hua whose eyes were as lifeless as a forgotten pond, reached for the meager portion. But before his calloused fingers could touch the bounty, a polished leather boot slammed down, crushing the potato into a starchy paste on the dusty ground. “Well, well, if it isn’t the ‘Cloud-Reaching Prodigy’ himself, come to scavenge with the pigs,” a sneering voice drawled. Young Master Lin Feng, resplendent in robes of shimmering azure silk, stood over the ruined meal, a gaudy Moonstone ring glinting on his finger. Two burly inner-sect lackeys flanked him, their grins sharp as freshly honed blades. He Chuan didn't flinch. His gaze, once vibrant, now held the depth of a storm-ravaged sky, yet his chin remained stubbornly high. “Still following me around like a starved dog, Lin Feng? I’d have thought you’d find a new shadow by now. The last one grew tired of tripping over his own envy.” Lin Feng’s face, usually slick with an air of affected superiority, twisted. “Watch your tongue, demoted trash! Do you forget your place? The once-glorious He Chuan, now an outer servant, forbidden from even brushing against the true path of cultivation. Your meridians are shattered, your spirit-sea a desolate wasteland! You’re nothing but a lingering stench!” With a vicious kick, Lin Feng sent He Chuan sprawling. The ground, packed hard with generations of neglect, jarred his bones. A sharp pain lanced through his side where the boot had connected, a familiar throb that spoke of broken pride and broken dreams. His hand instinctively flew to his chest, protecting the smooth, cool talisman that hung beneath his robes, a gift from a mother long vanished. “Take his rations,” Lin Feng commanded, his voice dripping with casual malice. One of the lackeys moved forward, scooping up He Chuan’s meager portion, which had miraculously survived the kick. He Chuan pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in protest. A thin line of crimson trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining his cracked lips. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes burning with an unyielding fire. “You’ll regret this,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, but laced with an ancient, chilling arrogance that seemed entirely out of place for a boy in his state. “One day, Lin Feng, you’ll be begging to lick the mud from my boots.” Lin Feng recoiled as if struck, his face contorting into a mask of pure fury. The other outer servants, huddled like frightened mice, gasped. Such defiance was unheard of. “Impudent worm!” Lin Feng roared, his palm crackling with faint azure energy – a low-tier elemental resonance, but more than enough to shatter the bones of an uncultivated boy. “I’ll break more than your spirit-sea this time! I’ll break your very will!” He lunged, his hand aimed at He Chuan’s throat, intending to snap it like a dried twig. Suddenly, a blur of white fur launched itself from He Chuan’s side. A creature no bigger than a plump cabbage, with round, dark eyes and impossibly fluffy ears, clamped its tiny, sharp teeth onto Lin Feng’s ankle. It was Baozi, He Chuan’s dumpling badger, whose usual expression was one of blissful ignorance, now contorted into a furious, dumpling-shaped snarl. “YOW! What in the nine hells? Get off me, you foul furball!” Lin Feng yelped, hopping on one foot, his cultivation strike scattering harmlessly into the dust. He flailed, trying to dislodge the tenacious badger, his carefully cultivated dignity evaporating into comical panic. In the chaos, He Chuan stumbled, his hand still pressed to his chest. The trickle of blood from his lip, forgotten in the scuffle, found its way down his chin, past his collar, and onto the smooth, cool surface of the jade stone. For a moment, the heirloom pulsed with a faint, internal light, like a sleeping star awakening. A low hum resonated, a frequency only He Chuan could feel, vibrating through his shattered meridians, then deeper, into his very soul. Suddenly, the air grew heavy, oppressive. The joyful squeaks of Baozi, still clinging valiantly to Lin Feng’s ankle, faltered. A form shimmered into existence from the jade pendant, coalescing into an ethereal figure. It was an old man, his ghostly robes tattered but exuding an ancient majesty, his eyes two burning embers of indignation. His long, wispy beard trembled with silent fury. “What in the blazes? I awaken to this wretched racket? And *you*,” the old shade’s voice rasped, like stones grinding together, “You look like a half-drowned rat! Is this the glorious lineage of the Sky-Piercing Blade-Saint? Pathetic! Utterly, miserably pathetic!” He Chuan stared at the apparition, his mouth parted, momentarily forgetting his pain. “Who… what are you?” “Who am I? I am Venerable Guci, you ungrateful whelp! And you just bled your ignoble fluids all over my eternal slumber!” Guci snarled, then his glowing eyes flickered to Lin Feng, who was still trying to shake off Baozi. With a barely perceptible flick of his translucent hand, a force like an invisible fist slammed into Lin Feng. The young master was ripped from the badger’s grip and sent sailing across the dirt courtyard, landing in a heap beside the overturned ration barrels, groaning pitifully. Guci’s gaze, sharp as winter ice, swept over Lin Feng’s unconscious form, then settled back on He Chuan. His fiery eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with a dawning, terrible recognition. He peered closer at the green stone, then back at He Chuan, his translucent form freezing. The air crackled with a sudden, chilling fury, far deeper than his initial annoyance. His gaze fixed on He Chuan’s face, then on the jade carving again, an ember of something ancient and terrible passing through his eyes. “You have her eyes, boy… the eyes of the wretched girl who robbed me blind!”

The Mud and the Jade