Rainy Night: The Beginning of the Story

Lead-gray clouds hung over the horizon like waterlogged cotton, heavy and oppressive, while even the wind carried a stifling dampness. A silver-violet bolt of lightning suddenly tore through the sky. With a thunderous boom, the earth trembled, and raindrops as large as beans came crashing down, instantly splashing muddy flowers across the dirt road. In the blink of an eye, they wove into an impenetrable curtain of rain, pattering against the crude roof tiles of the farmhouse as though they meant to swallow the little house whole.

Inside, an oil lamp hung from the beam. Its dim yellow light flickered in the cold draft blowing through the room, casting shifting shadows across the walls. The midwife had just flung a bloodstained piece of coarse cloth into a copper basin, splashing a few glaring drops of blood from the water. She wiped away her sweat, turned, and shouted excitedly at the mud-splattered man pacing anxiously by the door, "He's born! He's born! A big, healthy boy!"

The man—Wang Shanhe, an honest-looking farmer—stopped short and nearly stumbled as he rushed to the bedside. His gaze locked onto his wife's face, pale as paper, her fringe soaked through with cold sweat. His voice trembled like a candle in the wind. "Qingyun! Are... are you all right? Does it hurt?"

Xiao Qingyun panted heavily, her chest rising and falling sharply. With difficulty, she raised a hand and brushed away the moisture at the corner of her husband's eye. A faint, gentle smile tugged at her lips, but her gaze anxiously darted toward the inner side of the bed. "I'm... I'm fine. Just exhausted... The baby, let me see the baby..."

Wang Shanhe hurriedly turned around and carefully picked up the swaddled infant—the tiny body wrapped in coarse cloth washed nearly white, his eyes shut tight and little fists clenched. His cries were so loud that they even drowned out the thunderstorm outside, brimming with primal vitality.

Holding his breath, afraid of disturbing this delicate treasure, he gently carried the child to his wife's pillow. Xiao Qingyun reached out with trembling fingers and lightly touched the baby's warm little face. Tears instantly welled up and slid down her cheeks. "My child... he's so beautiful... From now on, you'll be called Wang Chuan. Wang Chuan." Her voice carried an unusual certainty, as if the name had circled through her heart a thousand times already.

Wang Shanhe froze for a moment. Instinctively, he wanted to say it wasn't right, but when he saw the profound meaning in his wife's eyes, and even the hint of pleading within them, his heart quivered. He recalled the melancholy and mystery she sometimes revealed, things that did not belong in this poor, remote village.

He gave an honest grin and tightly clasped his wife's cold hand, the rough calluses on his palm brushing against the back of hers. "All right! Our son will be called Wang Chuan! It sounds special, full of charm! Rest easy. I'll go make some brown sugar porridge!" He did not ask why she wanted that name.

Perhaps it was the unforgettable look in his wife's eyes that convinced him. Or perhaps, deep down, he too felt that this child, born on such an extraordinary rainy night, should not be bound to this ordinary family alone.

Outside, the thunderstorm still raged, washing over the earth. Inside, the baby's cries mingled with the couple's soft whispers, brewing a solid warmth that transcended poverty within that humble little room.

No one knew that when the life named "Wang Chuan" let out his first cry, three vast forces quietly converged beyond this plane. Two carried the tyrannical force to tear apart the stars as they brutally broke in, making space itself tremble. The other was like spring rain silently nourishing all things, gently enveloping the entire world and quietly broadening its boundaries, deepening its foundation, as though it were silently unfurling a magnificent canvas far beyond imagination for the newborn child.

Time flew, and Wang Chuan had already grown to six years old. One afternoon, beneath the dense shade of the old locust tree at the village entrance, several half-grown boys were gathered around a thin, frail figure, jeering at him. "Hey! Wang Chuan!" The leader was Liu Hu, the little tyrant of the village head's family. Because his father was the only Soul Master in the village qualified to work in town, he always carried himself with arrogant brutality. "Wang Chuan, Wang Chuan—I think you've 'forgotten' your ancestors! How dare you use a name like that? Your parents don't even have Soul Power. Trash gives birth to trash. You'll definitely grow up to be a dirt-legged peasant without a Martial Soul! Hahaha!"

Wang Chuan lowered his head, tightly clutching several wild strawberries he had just picked. His knuckles had turned white from the force. He knew he could not beat them if he rushed in, and he did not want to cause trouble for his parents. All he could do was bite down hard on his lip and endure the sweat-smelling hands shoving at his shoulders. The wild strawberries were crushed from his hand and fell to the ground, only to be trampled into pulp by several pairs of filthy cloth shoes. Their bright red juice spread silently, like the grievance in his heart.

"Wang Chuan—come home for dinner!" Xiao Qingyun's clear, uniquely gentle call pierced through the noise like a beam of light. Wang Chuan abruptly looked up and saw his mother standing before their wooden gate, holding a freshly mended old shirt. Like a drowning man clutching at driftwood, he struggled free from the shoving hands and ran toward that familiar figure without looking back. His clothes fluttered behind him, and his mud-speckled little face was full of stubbornness.

Seeing him flee, Liu Hu and the others lost interest. One of them spat at his retreating back. "Pah! Spineless little bastard!" Then they laughed and headed off to find some other amusement. Wang Chuan plunged into his mother's embrace, burying his little face in the front of her clothes, which carried the fresh scent of soapberries. "Mother," he called in a muffled voice.

Xiao Qingyun crouched down and wiped the mud and grass clippings from her son's face with her sleeve. When her fingertips touched his shoulder, reddened from being shoved around, pain pricked at her heart like needles. Her and her husband's poverty and "ordinariness" had become a brand upon them in this land belonging to the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, forcing their son to endure far too much senseless malice. Even if the Sect maintained order on the surface, it could not eradicate the contempt people held deep in their hearts for those without strength.

"Wang Chuan..." Xiao Qingyun's voice caught almost imperceptibly, and her eyes reddened slightly. Cupping her son's little face, she looked directly into his clear eyes. "When your father and I decided to call you only 'Wang Chuan'... there were some special reasons. Maybe you're still too young to understand, but it was never because we despised your father, nor because we forgot our ancestors. It's just..."

She paused, seemingly considering how to phrase it. "It's just that Mother feels the name 'Wang Chuan' itself is special enough, enough to carry your entire life. It's clean, vast, like that legendary great river..." Her gaze drifted into the distance, carrying an indescribably complex emotion.

Wang Chuan looked at the tears glimmering in his mother's eyes and the unspoken words hidden within them. In his little heart, he seemed to understand something. He stretched out his small hand, clumsily wiping away the moisture at the corner of her eye. Then he flashed a brilliant smile, his voice crisp and firm. "Mother! I understand! Wang Chuan is the best name! It's one of a kind! I don't want to have some surname like Liu, Wang, Li, or Zhao! I'm Father and Mother's child. My name is Wang Chuan! That's enough! As long as I can be with Father and Mother every day, I'm happiest!"

That pure happiness completely swept away the grievance he had felt moments ago. A wish quietly took root in his little chest: when he grew up and became capable, he would make sure his parents lived good lives. He would never let them suffer people's scorn again, and he would honor them for the rest of his life!

The next day, the sky had only just begun to pale at dawn. Liu Kaitai used the last bit of white flour in the house to steam a small bun, while Xiao Qingyun searched through every chest and drawer to dress Wang Chuan in his cleanest, least-patched set of clothes.

Today was the great day of Martial Soul Awakening. Every six-year-old child in the village had to go to the Martial Soul Awakening site in town, where the ceremony would be presided over by an honored Lord Soul Master sent by the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

"Son, why don't your mother and I go to town with you?" Wang Shanhe rubbed his hands together, his eyes full of hope and anxiety. The greatest regret of his life was that he had no Soul Power. He had always hoped that a miracle might appear in his son, bringing honor to the family.

But Wang Chuan briskly broke apart the bun, stuffing the larger half into his father's hands and the smaller half into his mother's. "Father, Mother, there's no need! I'm just taking a trip to town. It's not far. You should rest at home. Father, don't miss the time to sell firewood in town, and Mother still has yarn to spin! Don't worry, I know the way! Once I awaken a powerful Martial Soul, I'll run back and tell you first!" He patted his little chest, his face full of earnest confidence. He was so sensible that it made their hearts ache.

Wang Shanhe and Xiao Qingyun exchanged a glance. Seeing their son's determined expression, they finally did not insist. They could only remind him again and again, "Be careful on the road! Once you get there, listen to Lord Soul Master! If... if anyone bullies you again, don't endure it alone. Find Lord Soul Master and have him uphold justice!" Wang Chuan nodded firmly, slung the little cloth bag his mother had sewn onto his back, and set off down the path leading to town with light steps.

Quite a few children and accompanying parents had already gathered outside the wooden house that served as the town's Martial Soul Awakening site. The atmosphere was both tense and excited. Wang Chuan had barely stopped to catch his breath when that grating voice rang out again.

"Hey! Look! Wang Chuan's here!" Liu Hu swaggered over with several lackeys, his chin tilted high. "Tsk, tsk. Even a bastard child like you came to join in on a Soul Master's business? I think you're here to disgrace that trash father of yours! Your parents don't have a shred of ability, so what could you possibly have? You'd be lucky to awaken some rotten grass-root Martial Soul! Maybe you won't even have Soul Power, wasting Lord Soul Master's time for nothing! Trash!" As he spoke, he habitually reached out and shoved Wang Chuan hard.

Wang Chuan staggered from the push and was just about to fall—

A gentle yet unquestionable wave of Soul Power spread outward like ripples, instantly enveloping the area before the door. The wooden door opened, and a middle-aged Soul Master stepped out. He wore the distinctive fine robes of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect. His face was refined, but his gaze was sharp. His eyes swept over Liu Hu and the others like lightning before finally settling on the unsteady Wang Chuan.

"This is a place where the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect conducts Martial Soul Awakenings. Silence." The Soul Master's voice was not loud, but it carried unmistakable authority. "Bullying the weak is not tolerated by our Sect. Do you admit your wrongdoing?" The invisible pressure of his Soul Power made Liu Hu and the others turn pale, their legs trembling as all their earlier arrogance vanished.

"We... we understand! Please forgive us, Lord Soul Master!" The boys hurriedly lowered their heads and muttered unwillingly in Wang Chuan's direction, "W-Wang Chuan, s-sorry."

But what they were thinking was, Hmph. Once Lord Soul Master leaves, we'll see how we deal with that bastard with no surname! Yet Wang Chuan paid no attention to their perfunctory apology. He simply steadied himself, patted the dust from his clothes, and quietly looked at the Soul Master who had come to his aid.

The middle-aged Soul Master's gaze lingered on Wang Chuan for a moment. When he heard the name "Wang Chuan," a trace of surprise and curiosity flashed in his eyes. That name... seemed to carry something. He quickly composed himself, gave Wang Chuan a slight nod, and returned to his earlier gentle tone. "Go inside, child. The ceremony is about to begin."

Wang Chuan took a deep breath, answered, "Yes," and followed the Soul Master through that wooden door, which would decide the fates of countless people. The light inside was slightly dim, and a strange energy fluctuation filled the air. His heart pounded fiercely as nervousness and anticipation intertwined—what exactly would his Martial Soul be? And would that gentle power that had merged into the world on the night of his birth reveal, before everyone, the seed it had silently planted?