Lu Feng knelt on the cold marble floor. His head was bowed. His hands, steady and calloused, moved with a practiced rhythm, polishing a pair of expensive leather shoes. Three years. For three years, he had been the live-in son-in-law of the Su family, a title that was nothing more than a glorified servant. He was trash. A martial arts cripple with no discernible Inner Qi. A stain on their prestigious name. The sneers were his daily bread. The contempt was the air he breathed. He had endured it all in silence, repaying a debt that was not his own, but his late master's. A life for a life. Tonight, the debt would be paid in full. "Faster, you useless dog!" The shriek belonged to his mother-in-law, Madam Su. She stood over him, her face a mask of disgust, dripping with jewels that could feed a village for a year. "Young Master Murong is a guest of honor! His shoes must shine brighter than your pathetic existence!" The man whose shoes he was polishing chuckled. Young Master Murong of the prestigious Hua Shan Sect. He was handsome, arrogant, and radiated a powerful aura of true essence that made the air around him hum. He looked down at Lu Feng as one would an insect. "Auntie Su, don't be so harsh," Murong drawled, his voice laced with mocking pity. "A dog can only do a dog's work. You can't expect a dragon's roar from a crippled mutt." Madam Su beamed. "The Young Master is too kind! My daughter, Xue Yao, is blessed to have found a true martial hero like you." At the mention of her name, Lu Feng’s hands paused for a fraction of a second. Xue Yao. His wife. The woman he had protected from the shadows for three years, the reason he had sealed his own meridians and endured this hell. She entered the room then, a vision of cold beauty in a silk dress. Her eyes swept over the scene—her husband on his knees, her mother fawning over her new suitor. There was no pity in her gaze. Only weary disappointment and a chilling distance. "Lu Feng," she said, her voice as frosty as a winter morning. "Get up. We need to talk." Lu Feng slowly rose to his feet. He was tall, but his posture was perpetually stooped, a habit beaten into him over a thousand days of humiliation. He met her eyes, his own as calm and deep as a forgotten well. Madam Su shoved a piece of paper into his chest. "Talk? There is no need to talk! Sign it!" It was a divorce agreement. The ink was still fresh. "The Hua Shan Sect has proposed a marriage alliance," Madam Su declared, her voice ringing with triumph. "Young Master Murong will marry our Xue Yao! The Su family will finally have a connection to a true Martial Sect! As for you..." she sneered, "...you will be kicked out like the garbage you are." Murong stepped forward, wrapping a possessive arm around Xue Yao's waist. She didn't resist. He looked at Lu Feng, his eyes glinting with malice. "I heard you carry a broken sword everywhere. A piece of scrap metal." He pointed to the hilt of a rusted, half-shattered blade tucked into Lu Feng's simple cloth belt. It was his master's only relic. "I'll be generous. I'll give you one copper coin for it. A fitting price for the weapon of a cripple." A flicker of something ancient and terrifying sparked in the depths of Lu Feng's eyes. It was a killing intent so pure, so potent, that for a split second, the air in the room froze. Young Master Murong felt a primal fear grip his soul, a feeling of being stared at by an abyssal dragon. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Lu Feng's expression was placid once more. He looked past them all, his gaze falling on Xue Yao. He had waited three years for a single word of kindness, a single glance of warmth. He received only ice. "Xue Yao?" he asked, his voice raspy from disuse. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Just sign it, Lu Feng," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You can't give me the power, the status, the respect I need. Young Master Murong can. This is for the best." The best. Those three words severed the last thread of connection he felt. The life-debt was paid not in blood, but in degradation. He had given up his entire world for this family, and they had given him nothing but scorn. He picked up the pen. His movements were fluid, without hesitation. He signed his name: Lu Feng. The characters were sharp, decisive, like strokes from a sovereign's brush. He dropped the pen. It clattered on the polished table, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent room. "The debt is paid," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He turned to leave, his back straight for the first time in three years. "Wait!" Madam Su shrieked. "Your sword! Young Master Murong offered you one coin! Take it and get out!" Lu Feng didn't even look back. He walked out of the Su family mansion, the place he had called home, the cage he had willingly entered. He left behind the woman he once swore to protect, the family that had broken his spirit, and the life of a powerless dog. The night air was cold. He walked into a dark, deserted alley, the broken sword a familiar weight at his side. The mockery echoed in his ears. 'Cripple.' 'Dog.' 'Worthless trash.' He stopped. He reached into the collar of his worn shirt and pulled out a small, intricately carved piece of ancient jade hanging from a simple cord. It was the Dragon Seal. The key that had locked his boundless power, suppressing his true essence within his very soul. He looked at it for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, his fingers tightened. With a soft crack, the ancient jade shattered into dust. In that instant, the world went silent. A pillar of blinding golden light erupted from Lu Feng's body, shooting straight into the heavens and tearing the night clouds asunder. The sealed meridians within him, dormant for three long years, roared to life like a thousand waking dragons. An aura of unimaginable power, terrifying and absolute, flooded the city. At that very moment, ten figures materialized from the deepest shadows of the alley. They were old men and fierce warriors, the legendary sect masters of the ten most powerful martial schools in the world. They fell to their knees in perfect, synchronized unison, their heads pressed to the grimy pavement before Lu Feng. Their voices, filled with a reverence that bordered on terror, rang out as one. "We humbly welcome the Dragon Sovereign back to the Jianghu!"

The Broken Sword Worth One Coin