Tang Ling focused intently, channeling his spiritual energy into the gun. The power coursed through the weapon, inching its way toward the muzzle. As it reached the tip, a faint glow shimmered—but just as quickly, it flickered and faded.
Tang Ling frowned in disbelief. "Why... why did the energy fade away?"
Unwilling to give up, he took a deep breath and tried again. The muzzle lit up once more, but like before, the glow dimmed and vanished.
Frustration welled up inside him. He tried several more times, pouring more energy into the weapon, but the result was always the same. At last, he sighed and turned toward Xiao Lao with a defeated expression.
"Master, I'm sorry... I tried my best."
Xiao Lao looked at the boy with his usual blend of sarcasm and calm wisdom. "You fool," he said, shaking his head. "Don't you know? The first time you activate a spiritual device, you need to give it a burst of energy. That way, everything aligns correctly, and the carved energy core kicks in."
Tang Ling slapped his open palm with the fist of his other hand. "Right! I forgot!"
Taking a moment to compose himself, he gripped the gun tightly and aimed at a tree in the distance. This time, he channeled a surge of spiritual energy—stronger, more concentrated. The muzzle flared brightly, threatening to fade again... but it stabilized.
A sense of triumph surged within him as he grinned, his excitement palpable. He steadied his breath, aimed with precision, and pressed the trigger.
A bullet of pure spiritual energy shot out with explosive force, striking the tree. The impact was so powerful that the tree was blasted apart, its trunk split in half, splinters flying everywhere.
Tang Ling's eyes widened in awe as he stared at the damage. "It worked... it really worked!" His heart raced, and a surge of pride welled up inside him.
Xiao Lao gave a slow, approving nod but didn't look entirely satisfied. "Not bad, boy. For your first time making a spiritual device, with no experience, this isn't terrible. But don't get cocky. Your crafting still has many flaws."
Tang Ling nodded. He knew that well—he had noticed imperfections during the process.
Xiao Lao exhaled deeply, his eyes becoming distant, as if preparing to share something heavy. "Tang Ling, I know you're eager to see the world outside this forest. But let me tell you honestly—this place, filled with beasts, is still better than what lies beyond. Out there, it's not monsters you'll face... it's humans. And the human heart is the most dangerous thing in this world."
Tang Ling had always believed that the outside world must be better than a forest filled with emotionless beasts. But Xiao Lao's words unsettled him.
After a pause, Xiao Lao continued, "You've wondered, haven't you? Why someone like your Uncle Dan, so powerful, ended up in a place like this?"
Tang Ling nodded silently.
Xiao Lao looked into the distance. "Then let me tell you a bit of his past."
He began with a memory—Snow blanketed the bustling streets of the city, where carriages rolled by and people hurried past, wrapped in warm coats and scarves. Uncle Dan moved steadily through the crowd, his thick robe barely shielding him from the cold. As he crossed a narrow street corner, his steps slowed. There, seated on the icy pavement against a stone wall, was a small boy—no older than seven—clothed in tattered rags. His cheeks were red from the cold, lips trembling, and his bare hands clutched a wooden bowl close to his chest.
The bowl was heartbreakingly empty—not even a crumb to cling to hope. People passed him without a glance, as if he were invisible, their eyes fixed ahead, too busy or too indifferent to care. The boy didn't cry, didn't speak—he just stared down at the bowl, as if still believing that something might magically appear. His tiny figure, half-buried in falling snow, looked more like a discarded doll than a living child.
Dan stood still for a moment, his breath misting in the frosty air. Snowflakes landed on his shoulders, melting slowly into the fabric of his robe. His eyes lingered on the boy—so small, so still, half-lost beneath the weight of winter. Without a word, Dan reached into his bag and pulled out a small loaf of warm bread he had bought earlier from a nearby vendor. The scent was faint but comforting, a stark contrast to the bitter cold around them.
He stepped forward and knelt, the crunch of snow soft beneath his knees. Gently, he placed the loaf into the boy's wooden bowl, careful not to startle him. Their eyes met—one filled with quiet sorrow, the other wide with disbelief. The boy didn't speak. He didn't even move. He just stared at the bread, as if unable to believe it was real.
Dan gave a quiet nod and began to rise, turning to leave. But before his foot could lift from the snow, a small, trembling hand reached out and clutched the edge of his robe.
Dan turned, surprised, to see the boy smiling up at him. "Sir, it's so cold. Can I go with you?"
Dan hesitated, then replied, "Boy, if you follow me, your life will be in danger. I have enemies. Think twice."
The boy just smiled. "At least I'll get to eat."
Dan looked into that innocent face and sighed. "Then become my disciple. I have a friend with a student... but I have none."
Years passed. Dan became famous throughout the outside world. A rising star. A top-tier spiritual device designer. He even obtained a divine technique—an ancient golden scroll found in a hidden relic.
And the boy, Min Yan, though untalented and lazy, became strong too. With Dan's guidance, pills, and access to techniques, he rose in power.
One night, the two arrived at a city and decided to rest at an inn. Their room was on the second floor—a good room with beds, furniture, and a small kitchen.
Dan sat down on his bed and began to meditate. Min Yan went into the kitchen.
"CHOP! BANG! CHOP! BANG!"
The repetitive chopping of vegetables disturbed Dan. He opened his eyes, slightly annoyed. "You don't have to cook for me. We can just order something. Since when are you so into cooking?"
Min Yan chuckled from the kitchen. "Master, you've done so much for me. Let me do this one thing. Just this once."
Dan sighed and resumed his meditation.
Outside, the rain poured. Lightning cracked across the sky. The world was silent.
Min Yan appeared at his side, holding a wooden bowl filled with warm, fragrant soup.
Dan blinked. "You're still awake?"
Min Yan simply held out the bowl.
Dan accepted it, smiling faintly. "You're acting strange today... Did someone hit you on the h—"
He never finished the sentence.
The moment he sipped the soup, he collapsed on the bed, unconscious. The wooden bowl slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a loud CLANG!, landing upside down. The soup spread across the stone floor—black, not brown.
Min Yan's voice turned cold, his smile twisted. "Hahaha... You piece of shit. You said the divine technique was too dangerous, that I'd die trying to learn it... but I knew you were hiding it. And now—it's mine."