“Back then…” The old man Shi Houde, his clothes patched all over, trailed off with a bitter expression, unable to continue.
“What happened back then?!” Shi Hao pressed urgently, desperate to know. Being labeled as descendants of sinners had always filled him with resentment and indignation.
He firmly believed that the ancestors of the Shi Clan had committed no great wrong—they had been wronged. On the contrary, they had achieved great deeds!
Because, back then, when he pursued the ominous and the eerie, he had boarded that bloodstained black ancient ship. On an altar, he had witnessed the Seven Kings guarding the frontier, fighting to the last drop of blood, and even saw one of them fall in battle!
“Don’t ask anymore. Perhaps our ancestors truly made grave mistakes, and as their descendants, we are merely repaying their debts,” Shi Houde sighed, shaking his head.
“Tell me everything you know. I refuse to believe the Shi Clan’s ancestors were at fault—because I know some secrets!” Shi Hao declared firmly.
He could never forget the scenes he had witnessed on the altar of the black ship. Even the elderly and children had climbed that ancient, bloodstained, and cracked city wall, fighting bare-handed against countless powerful enemies from foreign lands.
Every battle was drenched in blood. Beneath the walls, corpses piled high. The old, the young, and even blooming maidens withered and died one after another, their eyes wide open in sorrow, their deaths steeped in desolation.
Every time he recalled those images, Shi Hao’s heart ached. He longed to roar at the heavens, wishing he could have attained his path in that most desperate era and gone to their aid!
Yet now, the Shi Clan was slandered as descendants of sinners, burdened with a disgraceful past—some even said they should be nailed to the pillar of shame.
How could this not enrage him?!
The Seven Kings had fought with their lives, only to wither and fall one by one, their tragic end a sight of profound grief. And now, seeing the Shi Clan’s current plight, the sorrow and fury were unbearable.
Was it worth it? The ancestors had fought gloriously, their blood staining the borders, yet their descendants had fallen to such a state—how utterly tragic!
Under Shi Hao’s relentless insistence, Shi Houde finally spoke, his voice wooden: “Some saw our ancestors slay their own kin, severing the heads of several great figures!”
Among them, two could even be considered leaders of their time.
“This…” Shi Hao staggered back. The consequences were too severe—beheading leaders of their own world was a grave crime, tantamount to rebellion.
Such a sin was nearly impossible to wash away. Without overwhelming evidence or a complete re-examination, it would be impossible to clear the Shi Clan’s name.
The issue was too grave!
Yet Shi Hao knew deep down that there must have been some hidden truth. Because he had personally witnessed the Seven Kings standing unyielding, their blood staining the land beyond the Imperial Pass.
Especially today, upon seeing the stone carvings, he realized that the one wielding the bone club was an ancestor of the Shi Clan—and Shi Hao had seen him fight to his last breath, bleeding out until he fell.
He had never surrendered—how could he have betrayed them?
Shi Hao’s scalp prickled. What had truly happened back then? The Shi Clan’s ancestors had died in battle, glorious in their time—how had they been slandered as sinners?
A chill ran down his spine. If the Shi Clan’s ancestors had been wronged, then someone must have lied.
“Who was it that condemned our clan?!” Shi Hao demanded. This was crucial—perhaps a hidden calamity lurked beneath.
“That was too long ago. Almost everyone from that era is dead now. There’s no way to investigate. It’s said that even if it wasn’t a consensus, it was close enough,” Shi Houde replied.
As the chief of this tribe, he wore tattered, patched animal hides—a testament to the Shi Clan’s dire straits.
“Could there have been some misunderstanding? Something our ancestors never had the chance to explain?” Shi Hao asked.
“I don’t know. It’s been lost to time. Countless ages have passed, and few can speak of those events anymore,” Shi Houde shook his head, his expression bitter.
It was clear—for years, the Shi Clan had lived under the shadow of the “sinner’s blood,” oppressed and diminished, nearly driven to extinction!
In the distance, a group of children ran over, their clothes torn and bodies bloodied and scarred. So young, yet already forced to hunt. Some wailed, “Father!”
They stumbled forward, throwing themselves onto the coffins at the village entrance.
“Father, come back! Don’t die! Great-grandfather died in battle, grandfather died in battle, and now you’re gone too—our family has no grown men left!” a child sobbed.
A little girl in tattered clothes, her face dirty but her eyes bright, cried out, “Uncle, you’re gone too! Father and mother left long ago—now it’s just me!” She curled up before a coffin, her tiny frame trembling with grief.
“Ah!” Shi Hao couldn’t bear it. He let out a low roar.
He stayed in the village, awaiting his call to battle. Over the days, he grew familiar with this small mountain tribe—their lives were harsh, with most adults conscripted, leaving only the elderly, weak, and sick behind.
If a powerful beast attacked, the entire tribe would face a dire trial.
“Draw in the innate essence, store it within your meridians…”
At dawn, bathed in golden sunlight, Shi Hao stood in the mountains, instructing a group of youths in cultivation. Though not overly strict, all listened intently.
“This bone inscription is wrong. The Suan Ni Treasure Technique channels lightning—one misstep, and you’ll injure yourself,” Shi Hao corrected a child.
He taught earnestly, hoping to help the tribe survive, at least ensuring the youths grew stronger and could defend themselves.
In doing so, he couldn’t help but marvel—these children were incredibly talented, with a few even standing out as prodigies.
Among them was a boy named A’Shou, fourteen or fifteen years old, with astonishing potential—unrivaled even among outsiders.
Shi Hao was stunned. In a tribe of just a thousand, such a gem lay hidden!
A’Shou’s father had been the village’s last great genius, as Chief Shi Houde had said. Now Shi Hao believed it—no wonder the praise had been so high.
A’Shou had inherited his father’s gifts. At his age, he could already subdue fierce flood dragons and mammoths, venturing deep into the mountains to hunt powerful ancient beasts.
Shi Hao taught him diligently, and A’Shou learned quickly. With his father fallen in battle, he sought vengeance—to fight beyond the pass.
“I want to learn the Great Peng Fist!” A’Shou declared. Once, he had seen an outsider punch down a Sky-Swallowing Beast from afar, taming it as a mount. The memory had left a deep impression.
“Fine, I’ll teach you. But mastered, the Great Peng Fist is more than just brute force,” Shi Hao said, for what he would impart was the Kun Peng Fist!
“I want to become your disciple!” A’Shou said firmly.
“Train for now. We’ll see later,” Shi Hao replied, unprepared to take a disciple.
“Then when you deem me worthy, I’ll formally bow to you!” A’Shou’s resolve was unshakable.
“What remarkable youths these days, already thinking of founding sects. Though, choosing the ‘sinner-blooded’ Shi Clan as disciples isn’t ideal,” a voice remarked that day as visitors entered the mountain and approached the tribe.
The villagers stiffened, their expressions wooden. Unpleasant affairs always followed outsiders.
Especially now—seeing their attire, the Shi Clan’s hearts grew heavy. The conscriptors had come again. More would be sent to the battlefield, never to return.
“Sir, A’Shou’s father just died in battle! It’s too soon—why must you take more?” Shi Houde pleaded with a pained smile. For the Shi Clan, this was an unbearable burden.
For years, the tribe had lived under this oppression, its people rarely smiling.
Even the children lacked innocence, spending their days training. The little girls, too, had no time for play. Now, their dirty faces were pale with fear—a heartbreaking sight.
They trembled, knowing that conscription meant losing parents, becoming orphans.
Those who left rarely returned alive—only bloodied corpses came back.
Few elders remained in the tribe. Most had died young in battle; the survivors were crippled, unfit to fight.
Finally, a little girl broke down, clinging to a young man’s leg. “Father, don’t go! I don’t want to be an orphan like A’Min and A’Shou! Stay with me—stay alive!”
“Sir, the intervals are too short. If this continues, the Shi Clan will perish—our lineage will end!” Shi Houde begged.
Shi Hao stepped forward, recognizing one of the visitors—likely here for him.
“Don’t worry. We’re not here to conscript your men—not yet. We’ve come to visit a young friend,” said an elder among the five newcomers, one Shi Hao knew.
“Years apart, and your achievements astound me. A Void Path expert at just over twenty—in my memory, none compare. Truly unprecedented!” the elder sighed.
“There are others. Some have entered the Imperial Pass this time,” Shi Hao replied.
“But they’re at least four or five years older. Even the youngest is nearing thirty. A few years may seem trivial, but in rankings, it makes a difference. Your accomplishments may be unmatched in recent times.”
“Speed in cultivation doesn’t dictate ultimate achievement. You flatter me,” Shi Hao said coolly, sensing ill intent beneath the praise.
Despite the years, old grudges lingered.
“Ah, I’ve come regarding your deployment,” the elder said with a smile.
So, the day had finally arrived.
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