“The heavens are blind. I go to steal the lightning.” He Chuan finished reading, the words a raw echo in the damp grotto air. Her furious strokes were chiseled deep into the dark stone. Beside him, Guci’s disembodied voice, usually a torrent of insults, was eerily still. “Steal… the lightning?” Guci muttered, the jade talisman throbbing against He Chuan’s collarbone. The spirit sounded hollow, stripped of bluster. “That foolish, headstrong girl… she always was too defiant for her own good. *Gu Lanyue*.” He Chuan froze. The name hung in the air, heavy and solid. Her name. The syllable he had rasped alone in his drafty hut across three bitter winters. His head snapped toward the talisman. “Gu Lanyue? That is my mother!” The silence that followed was far more deafening than any of Guci’s usual tirades. Baozi, who had been contentedly licking a crumb from his paw, paused, head cocked, sensing the shift in the air. His whiskers twitched. He looked from He Chuan’s stunned face to the throbbing jade. Guci’s gravelly voice faltered. “Your dam? The thief who made off with my core legacy… she bore *you*?” “Yes!” He Chuan barked, knuckles digging into his palms. “What are you talking about? What legacy? What… what are you to her?” Then, as quickly as the shock had settled, it dissolved into a familiar, prickly defensiveness. He Chuan scowled. “Wait. You called her ‘that foolish girl.’ Who are you to sneer at her, old ghost? And why hide her name until now?” “*I*?” Guci roared, rattling the cord around He Chuan's neck. “*I* am to her what a mountain is to a pebble! What right do *you* have to question *me*? And you! You dare to call *my daughter* a ‘wretched girl’ through your lineage? The nerve! Your tongue is as twisted as your meridians!” “My meridians are none of your business!” He Chuan retorted, his face flushing. The realization sank like lead in He Chuan's gut: this foul-mouthed specter was his grandfather. He bared his teeth. “She is under my protection now, old wraith, not your scolding. She has been missing for years!” “Missing because she’s too stubborn to stay put!” Guci bellowed. “Always chasing some impossible dream, just like her… just like you! And don’t you dare tell me what she is or isn’t! She’s *my* blood, you insolent whelp!” Baozi, seeing the argument escalate into a ridiculous shouting match between a boy and a gemstone, decided intervention was necessary. The badger scampered forward, nudging He Chuan’s leg with his head, then squeaked mournfully at the jade pendant. He then sat down, presenting a perfectly round, fluffy rear end to both of them, as if to say, *Stop this nonsense, you two*. He Chuan felt a snort escape him, though he quickly masked it with a cough. Guci, for his part, went silent, a spectral sigh seeming to ripple from the jade. A grandfather—and the old bastard was an insufferable shade trapped inside carved mineral. “We need to go,” Guci finally said, his tone clipped, all traces of vulnerability gone. “The herbs are harvested. We’ve lingered too long.” He Chuan nodded, gathering the pale, silver-ribbed stems. The stone hummed against his chest, quiet heat seeping into his skin. They retraced their steps, Baozi leading the way through the winding badger tunnel, the muffled sounds of the outer valley growing closer. As they emerged from a thicket of gnarled cypress trees, the afternoon sun dappling through the leaves, a chilling voice cut through the quiet. “Well, well, if it isn’t the gutter rat himself.” Young Master Lin Feng stood before them, a sneer twisting his features. His ankle was wrapped, but his eyes blazed with a manic fury. Beside him loomed six hired cutthroats, their gray tunics stamped with the coiled serpent crest of the Viper’s Coil. Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow, gripped a heavy, spiked club. “You thought you could crawl away, He Chuan?” Lin Feng spat, gesturing to his hired brutes. “Viper’s Coil killers. They take coin to break bones, and today you crawl home on your belly.” He Chuan met Lin Feng’s gaze, a cold, hard glint in his eyes. The Spirit-Mending Herbs he’d ingested in the grotto had already begun their work, weaving new threads of power through his nascent pathways. Three restored channels now pulsed with steady vigor, washing away the dead numbness of the past years. He felt the Edict of the Ashen Spark thrumming beneath his skin, eager. “Lost honor?” He Chuan echoed, a faint, mocking smile touching his lips. “You never had any to begin with, Lin Feng.” “Kill him!” Lin Feng shrieked, his face contorting. “Break his limbs, then bring him to me!” The squad leader grunted, and the sellswords charged with disciplined footwork. The scarred man swung his spiked club in a wide, crushing arc, aiming for He Chuan’s head. He Chuan didn’t dodge. Instead, an ash-gray flare erupted from his palm. He intercepted the club head-on with a precise strike of concentrated Edict power. The impact sent a jarring shockwave through the mercenary’s arm, forcing him to stumble back, his club vibrating violently. “Pathetic,” Guci scoffed, a flicker of approval in his voice. “A worm with a rusty shovel.” He Chuan moved like a blur, his previously injured leg now carrying him with newfound grace. He slipped through their perimeter, knuckles snapping out like iron mallets. The Edict of the Ashen Spark wasn’t about raw power; it was about precision, disruption, and an almost corrosive touch. One mercenary lunged, blade glinting. He Chuan parried with an open palm, a coil of ashen force wrapping the man’s wrist. The brawler shrieked, dropping the steel as blistering welts rose across his knuckles. Another tried to flank him. He Chuan spun, his elbow slamming into the man’s sternum. But this wasn’t a simple physical blow. A concentrated burst of spiritual force drove inward, scrambling the man's inner currents. The man gagged, clutching his chest, his eyes wide with terror as he collapsed, gasping for air. Within breaths, all six hirelings sprawled in the dirt, gasping and clutching shattered stances. None were dead, but their pathways were throttled, pinned under systemic shock. He Chuan stepped over the groaning brutes, gray embers still smoldering on his fingertips. He turned to Lin Feng, his gaze like chips of ice. Lin Feng staggered back, his face ashen, his bravado utterly shattered. “You… you’re a monster! I’ll tell my father! He’ll have you flayed!” “Your father?” He Chuan stepped forward, his voice low, menacing. “Tell him his son learns nothing.” He raised his hand, gray sparks gathering over his knuckles. “No! Don’t you dare!” Lin Feng shrieked, stumbling over his own feet. He tried to turn, to flee, but He Chuan was already there. His open palm connected with Lin Feng’s cheek, not with a crushing force, but with a sharp, stinging slap that carried a concentrated pulse of the Edict. It wasn’t meant to inflict serious harm, but to utterly humiliate. The sound cracked through the quiet woods like a thunderclap. Lin Feng’s head snapped back. His chin snapped sideways, and he dropped limp into the loam, a scarlet welt swelling across his jaw. “That’s for the mud, you swine,” He Chuan muttered, wiping his hand on his tunic. Baozi chittered excitedly, pouncing on Lin Feng’s discarded satchel and sniffing for treats. “A decent display, for a fledgling,” Guci commented, a distinct note of pride in his voice, quickly masked by disdain. “Though you waste too much breath. And your posture…” Guci’s words were cut short. A crushing hush smothered the glade. The air grew heavy, crackling with an unseen power. The light shifted, turning an ominous, bruised purple. A low, resonant hum began to vibrate through the earth, a sound that seemed to come from the very fabric of existence. He Chuan tilted his chin upward. The clouds ripped apart under a searing amber glare. A rift tore open, unfurling a miles-wide celestial scroll. It was colossal, stretching across the heavens, its edges burning with cosmic fire. Script, written in characters of pure, shimmering gold, began to etch itself across the parchment, each stroke accompanied by a sound like crashing mountains. He Chuan stood rooted, marrow humming in warning. He knew, instinctively, what this was. He felt it deep in his bones, a primal fear, a recognition of something utterly terrifying and inevitable. This wasn’t a mere tribulation cloud. This was a direct decree, a pronouncement from the cosmic will itself. And then, with agonizing slowness, the golden characters finished forming, burning themselves into the very fabric of the sky, visible to every soul in the Mist-Piercing Pavilion and beyond. Their message was unambiguous, chillingly clear, and directed solely at him. “He Chuan of the Mist-Piercing Pavilion, your defiance of the Heavenly Edicts and the audacious awakening of forbidden power has been noted. By the Celestial Host, a Great Tribulation is decreed. During the coming Biannual Tournament, at the hour of your ultimate challenge, the heavens shall unleash their fury. May your soul endure, or shatter into stardust.” The golden light intensified, searing. The parchment began to roll back, but not before one final, colossal character burned itself above the academy’s highest peak: a single, blazing mark that branded him, forever. It was the Mark of the Shattered Soul, the heavens’ ultimate judgment. “The skies are blind,” He Chuan whispered, claiming the chiseled words as his oath. “I go to steal the storm.” The sky above Cangtian blazed, marking its prey.

The Thief's True Name