My name is Feng Qi. I am an orphan. A little over a year ago, I lost my mother—my only remaining relative, the only person who still cared about me. I lost my father and my younger sister about four years ago. The cart they were traveling in mysteriously fell from a cliff, and their bodies were never found; perhaps they were swept away by the river below. Either way—I highly doubt they are still alive.
To be honest, my family once managed a very important part of the Feng Clan's business. However, after my father's death, everything collapsed. Our assets were confiscated under the claim that they would be used to settle debts. Our authority, our work, and all the value we held within the Clan were simply stripped away from us, without any explanation.
My mother? She made a living as a servant to her sister-in-law, my aunt Feng Lianhua. That woman was extremely cruel—she still is.
Delayed payments, tasteless jokes, excessive complaints, and much more. It was unbearable to deal with her, so I found work on the farms of Uncle Feng Zongyuan. Yes, I am a farmer's servant. The pay isn't much, but it's enough to get by.
Truth be told, my life has been a living hell for a long time. When I lost my mother, everything completely fell apart. I don't care about what happens within the Clan—it no longer concerns me.
My mother? They say she died because of an illness.
Do you really think I believe that? Ha!
All this intrigue surrounding my family exists because of my father's stubborn refusal to accept an arranged marriage. Out of love, he defied the Clan's laws and married my mother. Things began to fall apart after that.
When I was eleven years old, my cousins bearing the Feng surname orchestrated a trap to injure me, all under my uncles' orders. Furious, my father tried to seek answers, but he was stopped by Patriarch Feng Shidao—my grandfather. And that was the end of it. I was just a child, but I could sense my father's discontent. With each passing day, he grew more and more agitated. He avoided contact with his brothers and excluded them from his business affairs.
At the time, my father was responsible for a massive trade network located in Qingyao City, at the far eastern edge of the Chenyang Empire. Things were going well until everything collapsed. My mother ended up suffering countless retaliations from the Clan, which only intensified the tension between my father and his family. When he died, all our assets and wealth were confiscated. From that day on, my mother changed—her head always lowered, her face rarely showing a smile.
Those bastards! If only I could change my destiny! If only I could cultivate, if I had talent! Damn it, Heavens! Why did you give me such a weak body?
I am not ashamed to say it—I have no talent for cultivation. Most youths my age already possess some theoretical knowledge of martial arts, and some have even reached the Body Refinement stage.
I have no hope. I truly have become—
"Tsk! Am I really so pathetic that I'm venting to a piece of paper? Heavens…"
The young man walked slowly, as if every step demanded more strength than he possessed. His clothes, once simple but decent, now hung from his body like worn rags ravaged by time. The fabric was wrinkled, torn in places, and stained with dried dust, as though he had crossed paths few dared to tread. His loose collar revealed signs of exhaustion on his skin—light scratches, fading bruises, and the pale tone of someone who rarely rested.
His dark, unkempt hair fell messily over his forehead, held in place only by chance. His youthful face still carried gentle features, but they were marked by fatigue. His eyes, however, were what truly stood out. Despite his miserable appearance, a silent determination burned within them—something no hardship could extinguish. There was a restrained flame there, weak yet unyielding, like a glowing ember on the verge of becoming a fire.
His hunched posture and tense shoulders revealed the weight of recent hardships, yet every movement carried an almost ferocious stubbornness—a refusal to give up, even when the world seemed intent on crushing him.
Staggering slightly, he tossed aside a rough notebook with frayed edges. That notebook seemed to carry the weight of many stories; in truth, it had been a gift from his father on his eleventh birthday. Today, this poor young man had turned sixteen, yet there was not a single living soul in the room to congratulate him.
Feng Qi's little house was little more than an improvised shelter. Built from warped, poorly aligned wooden planks, it seemed to defy the wind through sheer stubbornness. Gaps between the boards allowed cold drafts to whisper through the interior, and the low roof, covered with uneven slats, creaked whenever a stronger breeze brushed against the hillside. There were no decorations, no paint—only aged wood, scarred by sun and rain, bearing the grayish hue of long years of neglect.
Inside, the space was so small that one could almost touch the opposite wall by simply extending an arm. A single thin mattress occupied the driest corner, and beside it, an unstable table supported a few old notebooks with worn covers. Even so, that humble shack carried a comforting silence—the kind only the forgotten possess. To Feng Qi, it was little… but it was all he had.
"Am I really going to live my entire life like this? Tsk! I need a fortuitous encounter. I need something that will change my life!"
Feng Qi knew about fortuitous encounters. He had heard many stories of relatives and acquaintances who obtained great opportunities during their travels. Such encounters strengthened one's destiny, often enhancing talent, granting great strength or resilience. They ranged from rare artifacts crafted by ancient masters to forgotten ruins and secret realms. Many ancient masters were said to have hidden immense riches within caves. The lives of those who found such opportunities changed overnight, as if turning from night to day. In rare cases, some even encountered legendary masters willing to accept them as disciples, teaching them secret techniques, the mysteries of Heaven and Earth, and the path toward immortality.
Feng Qi harbored a deep longing for one of these encounters. He yearned to awaken an innate talent, to learn cultivation methods, and to ascend toward immortality. Only then could he travel the world, uncover secrets and adventures, elevate his status, and live up to his name—Awakening of the Wind.
Fortuitous encounters were gifts granted by the Heavens to their chosen ones. For the fortunate, blessed with great luck and favorable karma, a single unexpected encounter could completely transform one's destiny. However, that was not Feng Qi's case. He was merely a farmer's servant—there was nothing special about him.
Night had fallen, and the cold was knocking at the door. Feng Qi slowly walked to his bed, lay down, and gradually closed his eyes as thoughts raced through his mind. There was a trace of sadness in his gaze—how could someone so ordinary and miserable ever change their future?
Outside, the night was calm. Frogs and crickets sang without pause. In the sky, the moon shone brightly and clearly, its light so vivid that no lamp was needed to see. Feng Qi's small house stood on the outskirts of a plain. Below, lanterns illuminated houses and streets—that was the farm's main settlement where he worked.
Yes, his house stood apart from the others. Feng Qi's job was to herd sheep, handle dairy cattle, and milk cows—tasks he performed two to three times a week. His other duties were far more exhausting. He had to help with planting and harvesting crops—wheat, barley, rice, corn, sorghum, oats, and rye.
His uncle's farm was immense. There was no shortage of work, nor of servants to do it. The settlement resembled a small village due to its size, and the owner's wealth was evident. The main house—the residence of the owner—was not merely a home, but a true mansion erected at the heart of the village.
At times, Feng Qi ventured into swamps and dense forests in search of materials such as wood, ore, clay, and others. At other times, the work involved building houses, barns, pavilions, and so on. There was no end to it. On this particular day, he had been cutting down trees for the village. He and a group of ten ensured a steady supply of firewood and construction timber. To reach the site, they had to pass through marshy terrain where carts could not travel—logs had to be carried on their shoulders.
Feng Qi was utterly exhausted; it showed clearly. Even so, his eyes still burned with determination. He had written many of his future goals in reused notebooks, searched for cultivation techniques and martial arts, but to no avail. He found only outdated and dubious theories.
How could people in that place possess real techniques? There were no cultivators in the village—not even his uncle. At most, his uncle had nephews and other relatives involved in that world, but they all lived in the city. His uncle's knowledge of cultivation was almost as poor as Feng Qi's.
At that moment, the sorrowful young man slowly drifted off to sleep, wrapped in an old blanket.
The next day, work began again—early. Before the rooster crowed, Feng Qi rose and prepared his breakfast: dry bread with boiled water. After eating, he changed into another set of clothes just as old as the previous ones, simply to avoid wearing the same outfit every day. Dawn arrived, and the sun rose in the east, above the mountains surrounding the village. The view was breathtaking. A small forest encircled the settlement. Some houses were made of straw, but most were built of wood.
To the west, where the sun set, lay the higher plain where Feng Qi's house stood, connected by a single path. Behind the small house stretched the pasture where cattle and sheep were raised. In the distance, an even larger forest bordered the far edge. The village had only one road connecting it to settlements of other Clans. That road led to Qingyao City, the commercial center of the entire region.
The green vegetation, the scent of flowers, and the birds' songs made Feng Qi's heart pulse—it was as if his spirit were being renewed. He loved the scenery; it was the only thing that still brought him joy in that place.
Returning to work, Feng Qi gathered with the group and headed toward the northern forest, about five miles away. Several carts accompanied them. This was his daily routine. When he wasn't cutting firewood and timber, he was planting and harvesting, milking cows, herding livestock, or helping construct new buildings. A common life, without great deeds, merits, or faults.
Still, Feng Qi was determined to change. In recent months, he had visited his uncle's mansion library and gathered a few martial arts books. At home, he trained discreetly and tirelessly in his spare time. He also sought out Feng Zongyuan to discuss ways of obtaining techniques, though his uncle was growing increasingly irritated by his persistence.
Once again, the day came to an end. Returning to the village, Feng Qi walked the same familiar path to his uncle's mansion, intending to meet him.
"Uncle Zongyuan, good afternoon."
Feng Qi bowed slightly in respect.
"Feng Qi…"
Feng Zongyuan's gaze and tone were far from welcoming.
"Sorry to bother you, Uncle, but I came to ask if that has arrived."
As always, Feng Zongyuan sighed. Sitting at his desk, surrounded by papers and manuscripts, he rubbed his eyes and reached into a drawer.
"Yes, it arrived. I forgot to inform you."
He pulled out three books with inscriptions at their centers.
"Here."
"Thank you, Uncle!"
Feng Qi gently held the three books, and a genuine smile lit up his face.
Feng Zongyuan watched the scene with a judging gaze.
"I know it's none of my business, but why do you go to such lengths to obtain these?"
Feng Qi slowly lost his smile. His gaze grew distant as he reflected on everything that had happened. Then he spoke:
"Because I want to change my destiny."
Feng Zongyuan did not fully understand what Feng Qi meant by those words, but he knew well what the young man had been through. How could anyone not notice? A child who once walked like a young master—rich and proud—now walked like a beggar, a servant, head lowered. Feng Zongyuan seemed to feel pity and spoke again:
"I understand what you're going through, but you should focus on accumulating resources. Cultivation techniques won't take you anywhere without a master to guide you."
Feng Qi merely smiled. He had no interest in debating hypocritical judgments. He knew very well that no one in the Clan truly cared about him—his uncle Feng Zongyuan was no exception. In truth, Feng Qi harbored deep resentment toward the Feng Clan. They had no idea what this boy would one day become.
"In truth, I just want to try. It's merely a hobby, Uncle."
"Well, do as you wish."
The village chief sighed once more, and the shy young man withdrew. His gaze, however, was cold. Feng Qi had to keep his head lowered for the sake of safety. He knew how things worked here—they had dared to kill his mother, and even his father and sister. Feng Qi was certain it had all been orchestrated by the Feng Clan.
In his heart, Feng Qi still envisioned the downfall of the Feng Clan. If that day ever came, he would finally feel fulfilled.
In his hands, three booklets bore the names of three basic techniques. Back home, Feng Qi flipped through them. He was happy—but there was little reason to be.
"Vital Breathing Technique, Earth Energy Meditation Method, and Resilient Body Fist… let's see."