Chapter 2 Embers of Defiance

At dawn, the sun rose slowly over the mountains, casting warm rays over the Chen Clan's compound. The morning air was cool and crisp, the sounds of birds filling the silence as Jian stood alone on the training grounds. His face was set with determination, his body tense as he focused on a single goal-pulling together the faint energy within him and molding it into something solid, something that might let him catch up to the strength of his peers.

The journey of cultivation was like a winding staircase. For those who dared to walk it, each level offered a new realm of power, each rung bringing greater strength, heightened senses, and deeper wisdom. Martial Initiate was the beginning, with the stages that followed-Martial Adept, Expert, Master, Grandmaster, Saint, and Emperor-elevating the cultivator's abilities to near-mythical levels. But at the summit lay the final, fabled realm of Martial Immortal. Those who reached it were said to possess godlike abilities, with mastery over life and death itself. Legends claimed Martial Immortals could reshape mountains, summon storms, and live for centuries untouched by age. Yet in recent times, they had become little more than a myth.

Jian, however, was painfully far from even the first step on this path. He was struggling, barely able to stay steady in the early stages of Martial Initiate. And the longer he lingered at this bottom rung, the more he felt the weight of his clan's expectations pressing down on him, crushing his resolve day by day.

He exhaled, his breath a mixture of frustration and focus as he closed his eyes. The elders had taught that each person possessed a wellspring of energy, like a hidden stream deep within ​the earth. A true cultivator could draw from this source, harnessing its power and shaping it into a weapon of unimaginable strength. But every time Jian attempted to touch this energy, it slipped away, like trying to catch water in his hands.

As he struggled to steady his breathing and concentration, a familiar voice interrupted, filled with cruel amusement.

"Well, well, look who's wasting his time again," sneered a voice.

Jian opened his eyes, and his heart sank as he saw a group of young disciples approaching him. Leading them was Chen Liu, one of the clan's most talented disciples. Liu had a reputation for his sharp skills and sharper tongue, and his friends, grinning with malicious delight, flanked him.

"What do you want, Liu?" Jian asked, his voice steady but strained.

Chen Liu laughed, folding his arms as he took in the sight of Jian. "Oh, nothing much. I just find it amusing that you're still out here every morning, struggling with the basics. You must be the only Chen still fumbling around in Martial Initiate at your age. It's... pathetic, really."

One of Liu's friends nudged the person beside him, chuckling. "Maybe he's just pretending to be weak. A hidden master, keeping us all in suspense, right?"

The others burst into laughter, and Jian clenched his fists, feeling the heat rise to his face. He wanted to ignore them, to let their words wash over him, but every jibe struck deep, stirring a resentment that was becoming harder to silence.

"I'm not pretending," he muttered, barely audible.

"What was that?" Liu's mocking tone sharpened as he stepped closer, his eyes glinting with cruel delight. "Are you finally going to speak up, Jian? Or are you just going to stand there like the weakling everyone knows you are?"

Jian raised his head, meeting Liu's gaze. "I may be weak now," he said, his voice growing louder, "but one day-"

"Enough with your fantasies," Liu interrupted, smirking. "You'll never be more than this." He gestured dismissively at Jian, as if he were a piece of discarded trash. "Do you really think you'll just wake up one day and become strong enough to impress us all? You're a failure, Jian. You've always been a failure."

Anger surged through Jian, but he held his tongue. His father's words echoed in his mind, urging him to stay patient, to focus on his training rather than the taunts of others. But patience was wearing thin, and Liu's words had an unyielding sting.

Another of Liu's friends stepped forward, sneering. "Maybe he just needs a little push to wake him up."

Before Jian could react, the disciple shoved him roughly, sending him stumbling backward. He barely managed to stay on his feet, but the humiliation stung even more than the shove itself.

Liu laughed, satisfied. "See? Pathetic. A true cultivator wouldn't let himself be pushed around like that."

Jian felt a surge of shame, mixed with the simmering anger in his chest. He wanted to fight back, to show them that he wasn't as weak as they thought. But he knew he couldn't win a fight against any of them-not in his current state.

"Come on, show us something," Liu continued, taunting him. "Surely you've learned at least one technique by now? Or are you just going to stand there like the weakling you are?"

The disciples surrounded him, their laughter echoing as they continued to mock him. Jian's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep control. He knew that fighting back would be useless, but every insult, every shove, chipped away at his restraint.

"You're a disgrace to the Chen name," Liu sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. "I'd bet my next meal that you'll never amount to anything in this clan. By the time we're all Grandmasters, you'll still be fumbling at the bottom."

A flash of rage clouded Jian's vision, and before he knew it, he took a step forward, fists trembling with anger. But Liu only laughed, raising his hand in a mocking invitation for Jian to strike.

"Go ahead," Liu mocked. "Prove me wrong. Show us all what you're made of."

But as quickly as the anger rose, it faded, leaving behind the bitter taste of helplessness. Jian dropped his fists, feeling the weight of defeat settle over him. He knew he couldn't win. Not against Liu, not against any of them.

Satisfied, Liu shrugged and turned away, gesturing for his friends to follow. "Let's leave the weakling to his fantasies," he said over his shoulder. "He's not worth our time."

They left him standing alone, their laughter fading into the distance. Jian watched them go, his shoulders slumping as the full weight of their words bore down on him. Each insult echoed in his mind, a relentless reminder of his failures.

The training grounds felt emptier than ever as he stood there, silence falling around him like a shroud. He could still feel the sting of their words, each one slicing deeper than the last. And for the first time, he wondered if perhaps they were right. Maybe he wasn't destined to walk the path of a cultivator. Maybe he was meant to remain weak, a shadow in his clan's legacy.

But somewhere, beneath the resentment and despair, a spark of defiance flickered. It was faint, almost drowned out by the chorus of doubt, but it was there-a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

Without a word, Jian turned and walked away from the training grounds, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He wandered aimlessly through the clan compound, lost in his thoughts, until he found himself near the base of the range that loomed behind their territory. The rugged peaks rose into the sky, sharp and foreboding, their shadows stretching over the clan's grounds.

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