I looked at her.
My sister.
She smiled as she tried to feed me with trembling hands, holding the half-cooked rice close to my lips like it was a treasure. Her hands were scraped raw, her fingers bruised and swollen from the fights — or maybe from begging, or worse. I didn't ask.
She looked maybe fifteen. Still just a girl.
But what had she been through?
I couldn't even begin to imagine.
Her joy came from this — from winning food in a sect where people like us were treated worse than dogs. Where strength meant survival, and weakness meant watching the people you loved starve.
I glanced down at my chest. The bandages were old, stained red in patches. My ribs ached with every breath. Even if I wanted to move, this broken body wouldn't last long.
What can I do?
I'm weak now. No allies. No power.
But I can't stay like this.
I need strength — not for revenge.
Not yet.
First... for her.
To protect this girl who stood between me and death, even when the world spat on her.
I clenched my teeth. I'll change our lives. I swear it.
First her. Then everything else.
Then I heard it.
Shouts outside. Angry voices. A mob.
"They live here!"
"She beat the elder's son!"
"That orphan b*tch dared to raise her hand against a cultivator?"
"Let's burn the house down!
"And if they crawl out, we'll beat her to death her and her already-dead brother!"
My sister froze. The bowl slipped from her hand and hit the ground, spilling rice.
She didn't speak. She just moved, slowly, toward the door, like this wasn't the first time.
Like she knew the script already.
My fingers twitched beneath the blanket.
I wasn't ready. I could barely sit up. But if they touched her I would rather this broken body shatter completely than let her face that alone.
Alex remembered something from his past life:
As long as you are at peace you will wake up. Even with the pain searing through his body and his weak qi barely circulating, he closed his eyes. He gathered what little strength he had left and used an old technique one meant to seal wounds and hold off death, even if just for a moment. His sister was at the door, locking it with shaking hands as shouts echoed from outside.
Then came the crackling.
The unmistakable sound of fire.
They had set the house on fire.
Flames crept along the dry wood. Smoke filled the air. The room grew hotter with every breath. Inside, rage began to burn in Alex hotter than the flames themselves.
His sister grabbed what little water they had and splashed it on him, her hands trembling. "Please," she whispered, her voice barely holding together, "you can't die
But she looked like she was already dying.
She stood there, shaking. Helpless. Terrified. And still trying to protect him.
That's when his body moved on its own.
Qi, sluggish and broken a moment ago, suddenly surged through him. His wounds began to seal. His muscles tightened. His breathing calmed.
He stood up.
His clothes were still burning. He didn't care.
He stepped forward, grabbed the old training spear resting by the wall, and walked to the door.
Then he opened it.
A blast of heat and smoke met him. Outside, boys from the sect stood laughing one of them the son of an elder. The same one who had beaten him not long ago.
The laughter died the moment they saw him standing in the doorway.
Before they could speak, Alex moved.
The first one didn't even have time to react. The wooden spear pierced through his gut.
Alex ripped it free.
The next one turned to run. He didn't make it two steps before the spear found him, too.
Then the next. And the next.
Blood hit the dirt. The smoke kept rising.