Holy Saint Village
On the mountaintop, morning mist drifted like pale silk between the trees, rising and falling with the rhythm of the wind. The sun had only just begun to climb above the distant hills, casting a golden glow over the quiet village below.
Two black-haired children, no older than five or six, sat cross-legged at the cliff's edge. Their small backs were straight, their breathing slow and measured. Though their bodies were young, the stillness they exuded was far beyond their years.
They were Tang San and Qin Wei.
The faint hum of nature surrounded them—birds calling in the forest, leaves rustling softly, the distant sound of an axe striking wood somewhere in the village. Yet neither child stirred.
After several minutes, Qin Wei's eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes slowly, dark pupils reflecting the rising sun. There was a depth in those eyes that did not belong to a child.
He turned slightly toward the boy beside him. "Brother San," he said quietly, careful not to disturb the tranquil atmosphere, "Grandpa Jack said the Spirit Hall deacon will arrive in three days to awaken our martial souls. What kind of martial soul do you think we'll have?"
Tang San withdrew from his meditative state just as calmly. His gaze shifted from the horizon to Qin Wei. "I don't know," he replied after a moment. "Let's wait and see." His tone was steady, but Qin Wei could sense the curiosity hidden beneath it.
'Three days. The day fate begins moving in full force.'
When Tang San had first met Qin Wei, he had thought little of him—just another curious village child drawn to the strange boy who preferred solitude and early-morning meditation to childish games. Yet Qin Wei had not left.
Day after day, he joined Tang San on the mountain.
He did not ask pointless questions. He did not mock him. He simply sat beside him and followed his breathing.
Over time, Tang San began to teach him subtle breathing methods. Then footwork. Then hand techniques—carefully simplified, of course. Even so, what he passed on were fragments of profound skills far beyond what ordinary villagers could imagine.
And Qin Wei learned them all. 'If I can't surpass him in talent, then I'll surpass others in preparation.' But Qin Wei carried a secret no one in this world could possibly imagine.
In his previous life, he had been an ordinary young man—fond of games, especially those based on this world's legends. One stormy evening, while playing with friends, a sudden electrical surge had flashed across his screen. Pain. Darkness. Then cold wind against newborn skin. He had awakened in this world as an abandoned infant. It was Old Jack who found him—wrapped in worn cloth, left at the edge of the village during a howling storm. Moved by pity, the old village head brought him home and raised him as his grandson.
From that day forward, Qin Wei understood one thing clearly that was 'This is Tang San's story… but it doesn't have to be only his.' "Let's head down," Qin Wei said, rising to his feet and stretching lightly. "If we're late, Uncle Tang might finish all the wine before breakfast."
Tang San almost smiled. The two boys made their way down the narrow path toward the forest. Dew dampened their sandals, and the scent of pine filled the air.
They moved with quiet coordination, spreading out slightly once inside the woods. Qin Wei crouched low, examining faint tracks in the soil."Fresh," he whispered.
Tang San nodded. Moments later, a small rabbit darted from behind a bush. A stone flicked from Tang San's fingers with precise control, guided by hidden strength. Qin Wei moved simultaneously, cutting off its escape path.
Within half an hour, they had caught enough for lunch.
'His control is terrifying… even at this age.' It should be said that due to Qin Wei's presence, Tang San in this life was healthier and more expressive. Qin Wei insisted on proper meals, improved cooking methods, and even basic hygiene practices uncommon in the village. Nutrition, he knew, mattered—especially for future cultivation.
When they returned to Tang San's house, Qin Wei immediately began preparing the rabbits. He handled the knife with surprising skill, separating meat cleanly, seasoning with herbs he had gathered himself. Tang San watched with quiet appreciation. "You've improved again," he commented. Qin Wei chuckled. "In my dreams, I was a chef."
'Not entirely a lie.'
The aroma soon filled the small wooden house—rich, savory, irresistible. A heavy footstep sounded from behind. A tall, burly man entered, shoulders broad, clothes simple and worn. His presence carried a weight that even the air seemed to acknowledge.
Tang Hao.
His eyes swept over the room lazily before settling on the two boys. For a brief moment, something softened in his expression.
"Oh, Xiao Wei is here." It was faint—but it was undeniably a smile.
Tang San lowered his gaze. 'Why does he smile at him like that…?'
Qin Wei noticed but pretended not to. 'Perhaps he sees less of his past in me… that's why.'
They sat together. Tang Hao tore into the rabbit legs without ceremony, drinking distilled wine between bites. The wine was Qin Wei's creation—an experiment inspired by fragmented knowledge from his previous life. The village had never tasted anything like it. Tang Hao never praised it aloud. But he never refused it either.
'If I refine the process, I can make something even stronger. Resources matter in this world.' After the meal, a brief silence settled over the room.
Tang San lifted his head. "Dad, the martial soul awakening is in three days. Can I go?"
The chopsticks in Tang Hao's hand paused. For the briefest instant, something turbulent flickered in his eyes—memory, perhaps, or regret.
"Go, if you want," he said flatly. Unspoken words lingered behind his calm tone.
'Is it.. Blue Silver Grass… or ...'
Qin Wei felt the shift in the atmosphere. He glanced at Tang San and gave him a small nod. 'No matter what awakens, you'll rise to the peak.' Tang Hao stood, preparing to leave. "Father," Tang San called out, rising quickly. "I want to learn blacksmithing. That way, even if I don't awaken a strong martial soul, I'll still be able to live."
Tang Hao turned slowly. For once, he studied his son carefully—not as a burden of fate, but as a boy standing before him.
After a long moment, he nodded. "Fine."
His gaze flickered toward Qin Wei. "And you?"
Qin Wei met his eyes steadily. "I'll learn too," he said calmly. "Strength isn't only from martial souls."
Tang Hao's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. 'This child thinks far beyond his years.' Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the wooden shutters.
Three days later, everything would change. The arrival of Spirit Hall. The awakening of martial souls. The first step onto the vast path of cultivation.
That evening, the two boys once again sat atop the mountain. The sky burned orange and crimson as the sun sank below the horizon. Tang San closed his eyes first. Qin Wei followed.
But unlike the calm on his face, his thoughts were sharp and relentless. 'If my martial soul is weak, I'll compensate with strategy. If my innate soul power is low, I'll cultivate earlier and longer. If fate favors him, I'll forge my own path beside him—not behind him.'
The wind howled softly through the valley, as if whispering secrets of the future. Two small silhouettes remained unmoving against the fading light. One destined to shake the continent. The other determined not to be left in his shadow... Or maybe surpass him.